


some things fade (some never do)

by we_are_the_same



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exes, Exes to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Magical Zayn, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Harry, Oblivious Louis, Pining, Slow Burn, Tattoo Artist Zayn, Tattoo Removal, Tattoos, UK Louis, USA Harry, matching tattoos, minor ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-28 16:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20066785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_the_same/pseuds/we_are_the_same
Summary: Matching tattoos. He’d never thought he’d be the type for tattoos to begin with, let alone matching ormagicalones, but once Harry had put the idea in his mind it had never quite managed to disappear. And it had made sense. With their relationship a long distance one, this was simply another way of feeling close to one another. Of knowing where the other was, how they felt. It had made so much sense.Back then.*Three years after their break up, Harry calls.





	some things fade (some never do)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waterlille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterlille/gifts).

> Written as a pinch hit fic for the [hlsummerexchange2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HLSummerExchange2019/). I absolutely loved working on this and it might be one of my favorite fics I've written to date.
> 
> Waterlille, I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Many thanks to Emmi, Pam and Caroline for always supporting my writing! I love you loads

_Home_, the tattoo on his left forearm says. The petals of the flower are blue, and as always, Louis’ heart aches just a little bit at the sight of it. He remembers when it was a bright, vivid pink, back when he first got it. When Harry’s smile was so radiant that Louis couldn’t keep his eyes off of him, had to resist the urge to brush his fingertips over the newly inked skin on Harry’s right arm. 

Matching tattoos. He’d never thought he’d be the type for tattoos to begin with, let alone matching or_ magical _ones, but once Harry had put the idea in his mind it had never quite managed to disappear. And it had made sense. With their relationship a long distance one, this was simply another way of feeling close to one another. Of knowing where the other was, how they felt. It had made so much sense.

Back then.

They’d been warned, of course, told that it was much harder to remove a magical tattoo than it was an ordinary one. That the only way to get rid of it was to remove it on both people, and Harry had looked at Louis with that same dazzling smile and told him, told the tattoo artist, that it was never going to happen. They were in it for the long haul.

Louis had believed him then, had believed that they would defy the odds, because there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep this wonderful boy in his life.

Except, eventually, that hadn’t turned out to be the case. Long distance relationships were notoriously hard, but though they’d only been able to see each other once, maybe twice a year throughout uni they’d thought it would get better after. Once they had jobs, more freedom, once they were older.

Magic. Louis absently rubs at his tattoo, as though he can rub some comfort into a boy he hasn’t seen in years. What was it good for, really, when it couldn’t fix things such as distance? 

Louis had grown up knowing magic existed, and he had always loved it, even though he didn’t have any magical ability himself. Neither did Harry, but he was as fascinated with it as Louis had been, so much so that they’d actually first met at a magic shop, when Louis had been on holiday the summer before he was meant to start uni. Harry had still been in highschool, but he’d already grown into the charm that had had Louis smiling when - upon being asked if they were here for a love potion - Harry had looked at Louis and told the shopkeeper “No thanks, I think I’m all good.”

He’d been eighteen, Harry seventeen, and it had been the best summer of his life.

Neither of them had wanted to think of the fact that there were over 4000 miles separating them, assuming - naively - that if it was meant to be (and how could it not be when it felt so _right_) it would work itself out. Somehow. 

For nearly four years it had. All throughout Louis’ bachelor degree, he’d spoken to Harry every day, tried to scrape together enough money to go visit him at least once every year. Harry did the same, adding a bakery job to his already busy life, to be able to afford flying over to the UK.

It was the third visit, a year and a half or so into their relationship, that they’d gotten the tattoo.

Later on in their relationship, with Louis’ bachelor degree sorted, he’d figured it’d get easier, even though Harry had still had two years of uni to go. He’d managed to find a steady job, and even with student loans to pay off he could save up a bit more, enough so that he’d be able to see Harry more than just the usual twice a year.

Except. Well. There was work, and it was busy, and although he made money it was much harder to take time off, now that he didn’t have his regular school holidays. He wanted to make a good impression on his boss too, and, things were just harder.

Harry had asked him, at one point, if he wouldn’t consider moving to Florida, and although Louis always complained about the cold in England, the thought of packing up his whole life and moving across the ocean --

He’d been naive. They both had been. They’d talked about moving in together after uni for so long, but they’d never quite discussed _where_. Louis had assumed -- but then it turned out, Harry had assumed --

In the end, their breakup was almost cordial. There were tears, yes, there was anger, for wasted time (something Louis had said that he could never take back, even though he had never meant it, not even right when he’d said it), but there was also, horribly enough, a sense of relief. 

There was no more waiting, no more counting down the days, no more saving every penny and frequently saying no to most of his friends inviting him out. 

In order to make it a clean break they had agreed not to contact each other again, and while it had been hard for so long - they’d always been so close, best friends almost, and there were so many times when Louis saw or heard something and his first instinct was to share it with Harry - it got easier with time.

It’s been three years now, since their breakup, but not a day goes by that Louis doesn’t absently check the flower inked on his arm. It’s been blue a lot lately, a sign that Harry’s sad, and Louis still can’t help the little worry that seeps in, the wonder what’s going on, if he should reach out despite the fact that they’d agreed not to. He wonders what colours are displayed on Harry’s skin. Wonders if he still looks at it, or if he’s got it covered up the way Louis did at the start.

He’s almost twenty five now, living a stable life, and he’s never met the next great love of his life, still sometimes thinks that Harry might’ve been _it_, but all in all, life’s not that bad.

Louis hopes that wherever _home_ is for Harry, he can soon say the same.

*

Harry is _in the park_, his tattoo says, when he wakes up on Saturday morning (though it is almost afternoon) to the sound of his phone buzzing on his bedside table. He’s pretty sure he can hear his cat trying to get rid of a hairball in the corner of his room, and he would get up and make sure she doesn’t puke on the carpet, but the name on his phone display startles him too much.

_Harry Styles_, it says, and Louis wonders if it means anything that in all this time neither of them seem to have changed their number. 

He frowns at the cat, who is licking her paw as though she hasn’t just deposited a hairball on top of his favorite sweater, and then frowns at the phone. He’s slow to accept the call, slower yet to bring the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

Harry _is_ in the park (not that Louis had doubts, really, the magic in these tattoos don’t wear off, and they had never been inaccurate in all the time they’d been together), because he can hear the faint rustle of wind and the sound of birds in the background. It takes a few seconds before his voice comes, and even after all these years it still sounds painfully familiar. Albeit with an unfamiliar hesitance. “..Hey.”

“Hi Harry.” Louis sits up, taking another look at his tattoo. There’s multiple colours in the petals now. It had taken them a while to learn what colours corresponded with each mood. It was different for both of them too. Harry’s default state was a mellow green, similar to the colour of his eyes. The petals flared bright yellow when he was excited, a vivid pink when he was happy and a softer, more pale pink when he was fond or flustered. Blue, the colour he’d been seeing most often recently, meant sadness. There were more colours, red for angry, gold for hopeful, and some that he had never quite figured out because they only started showing up when they’d no longer been speaking. Right now, the petals are a mix of blue, silver and purple, with flecks of vivid pink and bright yellow. It’s beautiful, even if it makes his heart ache. “I’m happy to hear from you.” Part of him was, at least.

“Are you?” It sounds soft, a little bit breathless, and not as though Harry’s just been running and only now sat down. More because it’s the first time in years they’ve heard each other’s voice and it’s just a bit _much_. 

Louis smiles, brushes a fingertip over the petals on his forearm. “You know I am. You can see it.” 

Harry hums, presumably looking down at his own arm. Louis doesn’t say anything, just lets him take it in. He’s sure his colours are mixed too. There’s sadness, happiness, some worry and confusion, and he’s sure that Harry, like him, won’t be able to make sense of all the colours swirling on his skin. “You are,” Harry eventually concedes, but the blue on Louis’ arm only gets a little stronger in response. 

“It makes you unhappy.” Louis says quietly. Harry just makes a soft sound in acknowledgment. Or in frustration. Louis doesn’t know anymore. It’s been three years, and to presume that he still knows Harry is preposterous. Even when everything about this feels so familiar. Right down to the way Louis is still in bed while Harry’s already started his day - even though it’s six hours earlier where Harry is. Or was, when they last spoke. That’s the one flaw about the tattoos. Even though it told them where the other was, it never gave specific locations. Just, _home_, or _park_, or _at work_. Occasionally it had changed to _airport_ or _on holiday_, but it had never given cities or even countries. 

“You’re up early,” he says, when Harry continues to stay silent. “Are you-” he wants to ask if he’s okay, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have the right to do that, to call him out on the amount of blue that’s been sneaking into his tattoo lately. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” 

There used to be a time where Louis would try and call Harry every morning before uni, because even though it’d be one in the morning, Harry would be awake, and hearing Louis’ voice would make it easier to sleep. It’s ridiculous that he almost wants to offer this now. He wants to offer _something_, but in the end all he can come up with is a quiet “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Harry says, predictably, but it’s what he says afterwards that Louis somehow failed to see coming, even if maybe he should have. “I want - the reason I called is, I think it’s time. To get the tattoos removed.”

*

Oh.

Louis stays quiet for long enough that he can hear a shivery exhale. “It’s just-” Harry starts, and Louis swallows.

“No, it’s okay.” He says, even though there’s a part of him that wants to yell that it’s _not_ okay, that they had planned for this to be forever, and even if those plans fell through years ago it still feels like this is the final straw, this is going to be the point of no return in a way that their break-up apparently, somehow, wasn’t. “You, honestly, you don’t have to explain Haz.” It’s easy, the nickname, rolling off his tongue without Louis’ brain giving permission. “You’re right. It’s, I mean, it’s probably overdue, really.”

He doesn’t look at the tattoo. It’s not fair for him to know how Harry’s feeling when Harry’s not able or willing to tell him. Harry’s right. It would be better to get the tattoo removed. Easier.

Except for the part where that means _seeing_ him. “You know that means-” he starts, and this time Harry is the one to interrupt.

“Yeah.” The pause after it is painful, right down to the way Harry’s breath sounds steady now, like he was worried about telling Louis, not questioning whether or not this was the right idea. “I’ve got a holiday coming up. I’ve been reading up on it. It’ll take a while, but we should be able to cram in a few sessions during my holiday, and I could come back a couple times.”

It’s painful, how easy he makes it sound. Coming over. When that had always been the source of their problems. Louis swallows. “If it’s important to you that we get it done, then, yeah, of course. We always knew it’d be hard to get them removed.”

“I’ll pay, of course,” Harry rushes to say, and Louis frowns, tries to beckon his cat to join him in bed because he could do with a bit of a cuddle. She acquiesces, but settles down on his chest with her butt towards his face. Still, it’s better than nothing. 

“You don’t have to do that.” Louis tells him. “It’s both our decision, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Harry asks, and Louis makes a face at the ceiling, but he manages to hold back a sigh.

“Sure.”

It’s not, really, but what can he say? There’s no legitimate reason not to do this. They haven’t spoken in three years. Maybe Harry’s uncomfortable, knowing Louis is still able to keep an eye on his whereabouts, still knows how he feels on a daily basis. 

It makes sense, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting, and it doesn’t stop Louis from moping around his flat for most of the Saturday afternoon, once they’ve said an awkward goodbye.

He’s going to see Harry in two weeks, but where that knowledge once sparked happiness and longing, right now he just feels dread.

*

Louis isn’t sure how long it took him to get over Harry the first time, but the days leading up to the moment he’s going to see him it’s like he’s never quite managed to do so in the first place. There’s butterflies, and while they aren’t because he can’t wait to see him - rather, they’re a mix of a generous helping of fear and reluctance - he still thinks about him far more than he probably should.

He hasn’t looked at his tattoo though. Has kept it covered up, out of respect to Harry. He’s only had a glance once or twice, accidentally, when he’s changing clothes or in the shower, but he has made every attempt not to invade his privacy more than was necessary.

But the morning of their appointment - he’s wondered if he should offer picking him up from the airport, but that had seemed to imply a relationship that no longer existed - he can’t help but take a look, needing to know if Harry was feeling as confused as Louis was. 

His colours are mixed again. There’s flecks of gold scattered throughout a mostly shimmery purple. A colour Louis never got to see on his skin before Harry and him broke up. If he had to hazard a guess he’d say it’s likely something close to melancholy or nostalgia, but he can’t be sure. He could ask him, but he doesn’t want to, because is there really a point in knowing what every colour means when soon they will be gone?

They haven’t really talked much, after that first phone call. Harry had only texted Louis the details, and linked him to a web page that detailed the process of removing magical tattoos. Apparently it is more than just lasering off the ink, as it also involves breaking a deeper bond. Not between them as people, but between the tattoo and the person it pertained to. It’s why they could only remove it together, because Louis has to sit there and conjure up every emotion that is inked into Harry’s skin, in order for it to be removed. It wasn’t supposed to be painful in anything except the literal sense, by all accounts, though Louis is sure it’ll take its toll emotionally as well.

He had read up on it, even if it made his stomach hurt. Apparently ‘easy’ or superficial emotions were the easiest to start with. Things like excitement, that could be intense but were generally short lived. Stronger, or more often felt emotions, were the last to go. Louis wonders if that means he’ll end up with a blue flower before it’s fully gone, or if Harry will be happy, breaking their bond. The thought that he’d been upset _because_ of the tattoo, that it wasn’t just something Louis got to see but actually caused in some way, still hurts. He hopes that if blue is the last colour to fade, it’s just that. It’s not that Harry’s feeling permanently sad, it’s just that there’s no other colour left to fill out the petals.

His stomach is too in knots to eat, but he knows that removing a tattoo is painful, and while he doesn’t know how much it’ll hurt to remove magical tattoos, not eating is probably not a great idea. So he forces himself to down some tea and dry toast, two things that make his mouth feel even more dry when he finally sets foot out the door.

Harry had let him pick a place; since they’d originally gotten their tattoos in America, they couldn’t easily go back to where it had been inked in, and Louis is actually glad for it. He doesn’t want to go there and face the same people he tried to tell him and Harry would be forever. He doesn’t want to see the pity in their eyes or hear the _I told you so_ that might be laced through every word they exchanged. So he’d opted for a place nearby, one that came with good reviews. Price didn’t matter, Harry had said, and Louis had tried not to take that to mean that he wanted to get rid of him at all costs.

The place is near his apartment, and while Louis would usually only need about ten minutes to get there he takes his sweet time now, slowing his footsteps until he’s practically stagnant. His stomach is in his throat and his heart is somewhere in his ears, judging by how loud his heartbeat is, and he’s not sure what he’s going to do the moment he lays eyes on Harry again for the first time in years. 

Cry, is a very real possibility.

His muscle memory surprises him, because he turns the final corner, comes to a full stop at seeing a (slightly taller, more filled out) familiar form idling on the sidewalk, and _smiles_. His heart races and his palms are sweating and he _does_ sort of feel like crying, but - it’s _Harry_. It’s _really_ Harry and he hasn’t seen him in _so _long and it’s just-

Louis has moved forward and touched a hand to his shoulder before he can stop himself, and he would’ve wrapped him up in a hug if not for the wary look on Harry’s face. He steps back then, belatedly realizes that the wariness was possibly because he’d approached him from behind and Harry hadn’t recognized him yet, but by then it feels too late to wrap him up in a hug.

“Hi Haz.” He says instead, sticking his hands in his pockets. He meets his eyes, for a moment, and then settles his gaze on the tip of his ear, as it’s a bit easier than facing him directly. “Long time.”

It feels like a stupid thing to say. Too pointed and too casual at the same time. He might as well be talking about the weather. He _knows_ this boy, but then, does he? Are they really anything other than acquaintances at this point? He doesn’t know what’s been going on in his life for the past three years, he shouldn’t presume to know him. And he shouldn’t presume he still has the liberty of drawing him into a hug, even though his body remembers his touch like it was yesterday. 

“Lou.” His voice sounds a bit deeper, the boy in front of him a man now. He’s nearing his mid twenties, just like Louis, but in his face, there’s still a hint of the teenager Louis met on holiday, over 7 years ago now. It’s his eyes, mostly, or no, not really, because they look older than Louis has ever seen them. Not as bright and naive, and Louis wonders how much of that is his fault.

“Hi.” He says again. He has to swallow the lump in his throat that might just be all that’s been left unsaid between them. All the _sorry_’s that he never got a chance to tell him. The _I wish…_ that came with late nights, scrolling through saved messages and seeing pictures of the two of them. “You look good.” Harry does. There was a time where Louis wondered if he would ever grow into those limbs, but he finally had. Even at twenty one Harry had seemed coltish, but standing in front of him now was someone who wore the face of someone Louis had loved, but wasn’t him at the same time.

Harry just gives him a sad sort of smile, and Louis has to resist the urge to look down at his arm. It’s none of his business anymore, he tries to tell himself. He should learn to let go.

*

Harry’s here for two weeks, and in that time they’ll be able to go in for four sessions, the tattoo artist explains once they’ve made their introductions. It’ll likely take more than that to completely remove the tattoos, but he won’t know how many more until they’re a couple sessions in. Louis tries not to think about how that means seeing Harry more than he’s ever done during their four year relationship. He just nods, lets the explanations wash over him. It isn’t deliberate, but his mind just takes him back to all the good times they’ve shared, rather than dwell on how they had ended. 

“Who’d like to start?” the man asks, and Louis blinks at him. He’d figured they would both be worked on simultaneously, but from the way Harry has his eyebrow quirked that was apparently a really dumb assumption -- or maybe that’s a bit too much to assume from an eyebrow. 

“Um.” He says, figuring he must’ve missed when the man explained the process, brain frantically trying to catch up, like it can somehow remember all the words that had been tuned out. 

“I’ll go first,” Harry offers. “I was always better with pain than you, Lou.”

Louis is tired. Too tired to argue, certainly, so he just nods. It’s not like it isn’t true, anyway. The many tattoos on Harry’s skin - just on his arms there are over a dozen small ones visible - are probably proof enough of that fact. Louis had never added any tattoos to the one he’d shared with Harry. He’d thought about it, but there was always something holding him back. Perhaps it was this. The knowing that this moment would come, and the subsequent permanent knowing that there was an empty spot on his arm where a tattoo used to be.

They get led towards a chair, the artist drawing up an extra stool for Louis to sit on while Harry takes place in the tattoo chair. Louis sort of wishes he could just sit a little bit further back, but that’s the part of him that doesn’t like to be confronted with bad feelings, so he grits his teeth and settles down near Harry’s shoulder. 

The artist - Zayn, Louis thinks his name was - produces a wand from his pocket, gives them both a small, but sincere smile. “Try and focus on the emotions I need you to, yeah? I’m gonna switch them up a bit. Start with something big, something that’ll take a couple sessions to get rid of. Do some smaller ones in between. Make sense?”

Louis nods. He’s not particularly keen on reliving any emotions, but he supposes he won’t have a choice. As long as Harry’s happy at the end of it, really. That’s the goal. 

Zayn moves his wand over Harry’s tattoo a few times, lingering here and there, this concentrated frown on his face that Louis would find attractive in any other circumstance. “Alright,” he says eventually, “there’s a lot to unpack here. You’re knit together pretty tightly.” He taps the wand against his lips, then glances from Harry to Louis. “You alright to start? If you need a break at any point, some water, a cigarette, just let me know. This can get pretty intense.” He frowned again, but his expression is gentler this time, as though he sympathizes with them. It isn’t perfect, but it’s better than being pitied, or having to hear _I told you so_, so Louis tries not to feel too annoyed.

He nods again, tucks his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie, steeling himself for what’s going to happen. “I’m going to start with sadness, I think,” Zayn says, and Louis’ fingers curl into a fist. “Try and think of things that make you sad. They don’t have to be about Harry, but they can be. The stronger the better.”

Great.

Louis watches the flower on Harry’s arm, remembers when they’d tattooed it, how happy they’d been. Remembers how they used to hold each other at night, how dreadful it had been to say goodbye, how he’d spent all his last nights with Harry - and there were always too many of them - curled up together, too afraid to speak because the moment he did he’d end up crying.

He thinks of losing his nan. Of how loss had been a theme in his life, in one way or another. He watches, part fascinated and part just numb, as the petals on Harry’s skin slowly turn a bluey-grey, one by one. “Good,” Zayn says softly, and Louis wants to scoff. He wants to run away, from the shop, from the feelings, from every bit of heartache that he’s willingly bringing back up just so Harry can stop thinking about him for the rest of his life.

One petal slowly becomes infused with red, and Zayn glances up at him. “Sadness only, please,” he says, but he’s gentle, giving Louis a smile that tells him he’s not the first to struggle with his emotions. He probably won’t be the last either. 

He takes a deep breath, gives Zayn a smile back that’s probably half grimace, but he _tries_. Focuses on how hard it’d been, realizing that no matter how much he loved Harry, no matter how much he wanted to make it work, it was not going to happen. He focuses on those first few nights, after, when he’d felt guilty over being relieved, but when he’d also felt _so_ heartbroken. When nothing had seemed to be worth getting up for anymore. He’s surprised to realize there are tears in his eyes.

He’s even more surprised when he finds Harry looking at him, finds fingers reaching out to slot between his own. There’s a lump in his throat now, but he squeezes his hand, holds onto the sadness for what feels like hours but can’t be more than twenty minutes at most, until Zayn shifts to sit up a bit straighter. “You alright?” he asks, and Louis nods even when he can tell Zayn knows he isn’t, not really. “We might circle back to sadness a bit later, but for now, I’m gonna do some other emotions, yeah? You’ve got a lot to work with, so we’ll see what we encounter.”

Fabulous. Louis nods, wants to ask if he can go for a smoke, but Harry never liked when he smoked, and he’d told him he’d quit. He actually had quit, for a while, but it was easy to slip back into old habits once he had no one around to try for. 

Not that he hadn’t dated after. Louis certainly hasn’t been celibate for the last couple of years. But no one’s ever made him feel the way Harry did. The way he still sort of does, because Louis’ heart still constricts in this painful way whenever he meets his gaze. It’s almost enough to keep from doing it, but then, he’s missed looking at him, and he wants to get his fill while he can.

So he stays put and doesn’t smoke, and Zayn tells him to focus on surprise, this time. It’s an easy one, all Louis has to do is think of when Harry had called him, the shock he’d felt when his name popped up on the display. He can’t help but chuckle a bit when Harry’s petals turn a neon green, thinks of warning signs and alarm bells, which is oddly fitting. He thinks of Harry calling him, maybe two and a half years into their relationship, to tell him he was at the airport, coming to see him. It’s a bittersweet memory, but it seems to do the trick, because as Zayn works, the colour slowly drains from Harry’s skin. 

Louis tries his hardest not to get sad over that. He doesn’t want to mess with Zayn’s work, after all.

*

Zayn announces that it’s time for a break after about an hour. Surprise had been traded in for irritation, a red brownish colour, after which Zayn had made him focus on sadness again. The colour seemed less intense now, on Harry’s skin. Already.

Zayn heads over to a small fridge and hands them both a bottle of water, before gesturing that he’s just going to pop outside for a smoke. Louis is dying to join him, if only because being near Harry is hard enough when they’re not alone, but he stays put. He brushes the bottle over his forehead, sits back in his chair and feels his back ache. 

“Is it hard?” Harry asks, quietly, sitting up with his legs dangling off the side of the tattoo chair. He doesn’t seem to want to meet Louis’ eyes. 

Louis thinks about that for a moment, giving himself some time by gulping down half a bottle of water. He hadn’t realized just how parched he was until the first drop of water hits his tongue, but too much cold water gives him a stomach ache, so he forces himself to slow down after the first few greedy mouthfuls. “No,” he says eventually. “And yes. It’s - intense? Having to call up all those emotions, hold onto them, I thought it’d be harder, honestly. But-”

Harry picks at the label on his bottle. “But?”

Louis sighs. “It’s..not fun,” he says, trying to be delicate. “A lot of the things that make me sad have to do with you. And so do a lot of other emotions. It’s not, I haven’t really thought about any of it in years.” 

“Oh.” It’s soft, but Louis can tell by the way that Harry looks away that he’s hurt his feelings. 

“Not - it was just hard, Haz. Knowing that we, that I lost something so important to me. I haven’t let myself think about all that happened between us, because I was afraid that if I did, I’d never get over you.” It’s too honest for someone he hasn’t spoken to in so long, but Harry always did manage to get him to open up. And Louis never had been good at holding his tongue. “It’ll be nice to get to the good memories. Though, at the same time, I’m dreading those the most.” He adds quietly. 

Harry nods, glances up at Louis but he doesn’t meet his eyes, just goes back to picking at his bottle. “Yeah.” He says vaguely. Then: “I’m sorry.”

Louis shrugs. “Don’t be. This is, it’s probably for the best, isn’t it? It’s been years. What were we going to do? Walk around knowing where the other was, for the rest of our lives? Knowing how you felt, knowing you know how I felt? It’s an invasion of privacy, isn’t it? I shouldn’t know any of that unless you’re willing to tell me, and you’re not.” He stands up, thinks that maybe he _will_ bum that smoke off of Zayn after all. “I’ll be right back, yeah? I just need some fresh air.”

Louis knows that the tattoo on Harry’s arm signals how uncomfortable he feels, but he doesn’t wait for him to see. He doesn’t wait for him to stop him because it’s been three years since the last time Harry kept him from walking away. 

Zayn doesn’t say much when he joins him outside, but they smoke a cigarette in almost companionable silence. Louis has so much that he wants to ask. Does Zayn pity him? Does it happen often, that people come by to remove their tattoos? How is he able to stomach bringing up so much hurt? Louis would say that it takes a special (cruel) kind of person, but Zayn doesn’t seem like that at all. He just seems empathetic, without crossing the border into pity. When he squeezes Louis’ shoulder just before they go back inside, it doesn’t feel anything other than comforting.

It’s Louis’ turn in the chair now, and while Harry hadn’t said that it hurt, Louis is still preparing for the worst. If only because he isn’t as good with pain as Harry was. He takes a deep breath, looks at the tattoo, his heart aching a little because soon it won’t be there anymore. Colours will fade, until Zayn will, at last, remove the outline. It’ll be like it was never there. Like their relationship never existed. He ignores the urge to brush his fingertips over the ink, to commit it all to memory the way he has done every little thing that happened over the course of their relationship.

Zayn takes a moment to catalogue all the emotions, like he’d done with Harry, and Louis ignores the dread in his stomach, focuses all his willpower towards staying put.

*

They don’t talk. For about an hour, Louis sits there, feeling tiny pinpricks on his skin, and the only sound is Zayn’s occasional soft directive. Louis is there, alone with his thoughts, and he can’t help but appreciate how hard it must’ve been for Harry to be the one on the sidelines like this, while Louis was busy drawing out all kinds of emotions in order for them to be removed. He doesn’t want to interrupt Harry, even when he sees all those emotions on his face as clearly as he’d always been able to see them on his own skin.

(Zayn starts with shame, a carmine colour that spreads through the petals on his arm the same way that it lightly dusts Harry’s face. He wants to ask, what things Harry has to be ashamed of, but he bites his tongue. After shame, he works on longing, and Louis wonders what, if anything, it means that this is one of the emotions Harry apparently feels most strongly in connection to him.)

He feels a bit tender when they’re done, more than just his skin aching, and he is slow to move, grateful when Zayn passes them both a new bottle of water.

“I can book you in for the next session in four days,” Zayn tells them, his wand tucked behind his ear as he looks at his calendar. “I don’t want to do more than four sessions in the two weeks that you’re here, because it takes a while for the bond to balance out again after a session, and if I risk doing too much it’ll snap and that’s not what we want.” Louis doesn’t know what it would mean if it did snap, but as much as part of him wishes they could be done _right now_, he knows he shouldn’t risk it. Zayn knows what he’s doing. “So if you’d like, I can write you up for next Wednesday.”

Harry’s quick to nod, and there’s a small stab of anger that Louis hopes goes unnoticed, even if he can see the red creeping up to fill in Harry’s petals. “Um,” he says, a little more pointedly than necessary, if the way Zayn quirks his eyebrow is any indication. “Do you have any evening slots? Because I’m working. I’m only off every other week on Thursday.”

(At least Harry has the decency to look embarrassed, and even a little guilty. Louis doesn’t look down to check. Guilt is one of those emotions that’s so fleeting that he isn’t sure what colour it’ll show up as on his skin.)

Zayn really does turn out to be empathetic and a generally kind guy, because he’s quick to offer to extend his opening times, booking them in for an appointment for Wednesday at 7 as well as scheduling the two other appointments (for Sunday and Thursday respectively). 

It still doesn’t feel real, despite the fact that his forearm is sort of tingling, by the time they move outside. Harry’s here for two weeks, and he gets to see him at least three more times. Louis wishes he could feel happy about it, but when Harry looks at him, scuffing his toe against the pavement, and asks “I was going to grab dinner, if you want-”, all he feels is just _sad_.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Haz,” he says quietly. What he means is _it’s going to be hard enough saying goodbye as it is_. _Please don’t make this harder on me_. He’s not sure Harry understands this, but he nods all the same.

“I’ll see you on Wednesday, alright?” He says, wanting Harry to understand that he’s - he’s not sure what he wants him to understand, actually. He could probably see it on his skin, in the swirl of colours that are on display, just how confused this whole encounter has made him. He’s glad for the reprieve, for the few days that he’ll have to himself, because somehow all it’s taken is one meeting and Louis has completely forgotten how to keep himself from hurting over Harry. “I’ll talk to you then,” he adds, and Harry finally meets his eyes at that.

“I’d like that,” he says, and it’s not until Louis is in his own apartment, heart still thundering, that he realizes exactly how Harry meant that.

*

Louis spends his Sunday not exactly moping, but not exactly not. The only reason he’s not full on giving into it is because he’s got laundry to do and groceries to get, meals to plan out - and look, he’s an actual _adult_, with more than just a cereal cupboard and three boxes of Yorkshire tea. He mopes while he’s at it though, because now that he’s seen Harry again he can’t stop thinking about him.

It’s _what if I run into him at the supermarket, _while he makes his list, and then the relief slash disappointment when he doesn’t, even though his tattoo clearly stated that Harry hadn’t left his hotel.

It’s the _what should I wear on Wednesday_ that he refuses to acknowledge because he doesn’t need to look good for Harry anymore.

It’s _I wonder what he’s doing now_ and _was I too harsh on him yesterday_ and _should I text him? _

(He wonders what longing looks like on Harry’s skin)

He’s relieved when it’s Monday, when it’s time for work and he can throw himself into it with more than his usual enthusiasm. His boss remarks on it, on his work ethic, and Louis is a little bit offended because it’s not like he usually slacks off, but if he starts thinking about _why_ he’s working so hard then it’s all going to blow up in his face, and he’s only allowed himself a day to mope. He’ll get through his three work days, rebuild those walls he’s been so good at keeping up all this time, and when he meets Harry next time it’ll be easier.

It’ll be fine.

*

On Wednesday, Louis has just enough time after work to chuck some maybe-too-old Chinese takeaway in the microwave, dump some food in the cat bowl, and then burn his tongue on his food, before he’s out the door and on his way to the tattoo shop.

This time he’s the first to arrive and seeing as they sort of know Zayn now, Louis just heads straight on inside and begs a smoke off of him before even saying hello. Zayn laughs and digs up a pack from the back of his jeans, gesturing for Louis to come on through to the back to smoke. “You look like you could use a spliff, mate,” he tells him, and though he laughs he sounds sincere at the same time. “I’d offer you one, but weed messes with your ability to focus, so that’s not the best idea.”

Louis appreciates the offer, even if he has to agree. Weed makes him even less able to hold his tongue, too, so he doubts it’d work out in his favor if he was high around Harry right now. Plus, he hasn’t smoked in years. “Maybe later,” he responds, though considering he’ll be here until ten at night he’s probably going to have to head straight home and to bed afterwards.

At least he won’t have too much time to reflect on the evening. Hopefully.

He’s halfway through his cigarette when a soft, familiar voice calls out from the front of the shop. Louis tenses subconsciously, and Zayn gives him a gentle nudge, discarding his cigarette and poking his head into the store. “Harry!” He calls, “hello mate! Come on through. We’re just in the back. Fancy a smoke?”

Louis fully expects him to decline, but to his surprise, Harry’s retort is a “fuck, yes, thank you,” that’s followed by a rather awkward full stop and silence when he realizes the _we_ Zayn had referred to was him and Louis, and not some other employee.

“Um,” he says, and Louis gives him an awkward wave, cigarette still in hand.

“Hi Haz.”

“Hi.” His greeting is slow, the small smile even slower to form on his face. Louis wonders if it means he doesn’t look at the tattoo at all, since he knows it would have said he was at the shop. 

“Hi.” Zayn adds, a small hint of amusement in his voice. He prompts Harry into moving by offering him an unlit cigarette, but Harry still looks at Louis before taking it. 

“I didn’t know you smoked,” is all Louis says, and when Harry only answers with a small shrug, he offers him a smile in return, before the three of them smoke their cigarettes in silence.

It’s probably the most tense five minutes Louis has had to deal with in a long time, and he’s almost relieved when Zayn suggests heading into the shop once they’re done. As much as he doesn’t look forward to having to relive a ton of painful memories, it beats being forced to acknowledge that him and Harry have lost even their easy friendship. It shouldn’t be a surprise, let alone a painful one, but it is. He hates the silence, and though he knows they’ll be quiet throughout most of their appointment, at least there’s an actual reason for it then. 

This time, when Harry’s in the seat and Louis is on a chair next to him, Zayn tells him to focus on the feeling of being in love. Louis hides a wry smile, resisting the urge to ask him if he was _trying_ to torment him. He couldn’t have gone for something simple first? Sadness was bad enough, the other day, but having to recall the feeling of being in love with Harry…

And the sad thing is, there’s no other people he could use to simulate that feeling, because no one else has ever come close to the way he felt about Harry. 

He closes his eyes, takes a few deep, steadying breaths, but when he opens them, his mind draws a blank on how to pull up something he hasn’t felt in years. There’s confusion instead, both in his head and in the petals on Harry’s skin, that switch colours, swirl them together into a pretty but useless mess.

“What colour is it, for you?” Zayn asks quietly, not telling him off for the fact that he can’t seem to focus. He’s just looking at the ink on Harry’s arm, as though he’ll be able to pick out even the smallest shade and start by removing that.

“Orange,” Harry answers for him, and Louis bites his lip, tries _hard_ not to think of the first time he saw orange on his forearm after they’d broken up. “For both of us.” He meets Louis’ eyes for what feels like the first time today. “Remember? You had a right laugh, the first time you saw that. Made that ridiculous joke.”

“Orange you glad to see me,” Louis’ voice is barely more than a whisper. It hurts to smile, even when Harry is. The petals on Harry’s arm, though still multi-coloured, get washed over by a blue sheen. “I only said it because I knew you would’ve, otherwise.” The joke comes out feeble.

Zayn hums. “Orange. Makes sense, I suppose. Shades of orange can mean a lot of things. Pride. Opportunity. Sexuality. Energy. Spiritual unity too.” He grins at Louis. “It’s an awful joke, but a good colour.”

He moves his wand over Harry’s arm, stays quiet for a minute or so. Then, almost reluctantly, he sits up a little straighter. “So, here’s the thing. I don’t typically ask people to talk about the feelings that are buried in the tattoos. For one, it’s not really any of my business. It’s personal, and most of the time, the circumstances that lead to a tattoo removal are… not great. But there’s a lot of feelings in here that I’m going to need to address. If thinking about them aren’t enough -- I mean, you really gotta _feel_ it.”

Louis swallows. “You want us to talk about it?” To his credit, Zayn looks a little guilty. As much as he wants to, Louis can’t be mad at him. They’re the ones who came in looking for help, and honestly, Louis had always known it wouldn’t be an easy, or nice, experience. 

“About what made us fall in love?” Harry’s voice is as quiet as Louis’ was.

Zayn sighs. “It doesn’t have to be about each other, but, yes, generally that’s easiest. It’s more than just talking about it though. You’ve got to remember it, relive it. Feel the way you did back then. It’s a shitty thing to ask, but, unless you can bring the colour up without it, that’s really the only way. I’ll make sure we end with something easier, but I can’t leave emotions like this until we’re further in. It’ll take at least a couple of sessions to get it properly untangled.”

Louis sort of wants to laugh, but he thinks if he did the sound would come out hollow. How is it that in order for Harry to be able to forget about him, he’ll have to drag every emotion back up? Has to, essentially, fall in love with Harry all over again, if only for a short period of time. He’s not sure how that will ever break the bond between them, but then, it’s not their bond as people that matters to Zayn. It’s only the bond in the tattoo, and hopefully, supposedly, once that’s gone, they’ll be able to keep their distance. Forever.

“Right,” he says quietly. “Okay.” It’s really not okay, but what else can he say? This is important to Harry, for whatever reason - and Louis suspects the reason has to do with the fact that he’s seen that Harry’s loved someone since him - and Louis has always been a sucker for him. He’d never willingly do anything that made him unhappy, especially not after he’d broken his heart by refusing to move to America. He owes him this much, at least. “Where do we start?” He’s not sure if he’s asking Zayn or Harry, but the latter’s eyes are on his when he looks up, and at least he’s not alone in feeling terrified and unprepared to revisit everything they’d once meant to each other.

“How’d you meet?” Zayn asks, leaning forward again, his wand at the ready. Louis lets out a breathless sound, and Zayn quirks an eyebrow. “Was he every bit as charming back then?”

Louis sighs at that, finds himself smiling despite the situation. “You have no idea.”

*

It’s strange, doing this. For over half an hour, they sit there, and talk about things that Louis hasn’t shared with anyone in years. They talk about their first meeting, how it had felt, the first time both of them had known that _yes, this could **be** something_. Something _real_, something that would last. Something that was worth the effort. Louis remembers the butterflies, that first time Harry had kissed him. Remembers their last kiss before he had to go home, the desperate way they had held onto one another, promised each other forever. Before he can slip into something that’s less _in love_ and more _sadness_, the conversation moves to other important moments. Meeting the parents. Friends. The first time they’d had sex - and while Harry blushes all throughout that conversation, Zayn never even looks up. 

They’re talking about the decision to get their tattoos when Zayn sits up, announces that he needs a break, and where Louis would usually follow him outside, he stays put now, because there’s some things that he needs to say and what better time is there than right now, with Harry right here? 

“Harry,” it’s soft, his throat still a bit constricted after everything that’s been brought up. “I’m sorry.” He takes a deep breath, knows that he needs to get it out now before he can reconsider what he’s about to say. “I’m sorry that I ever told you that what we had was a waste of time. I hope - I hope you know that it wasn’t. That I never thought it was.” He pushes his fringe from his forehead, just to give himself something to do because he sort of wants to reach out to Harry and shake him, as though that’ll convince him. “It’s not because we’re talking about this now,” he needs him to know that. “I’ve always remembered the good times. Even when part of me thought it’d be easier to forget.” 

He swallows. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me. And I’m sorry that it didn’t work out.” He meets his eyes, not surprised to see a slightly wet shine in Harry’s, mirroring his own. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be, or do, what you needed from me. I’m sorry if you ever thought that I didn’t love you, or that you weren’t worth it.” He had always believed that if something was meant to be, it’d work out, but then that would mean that him and Harry hadn’t been meant to be, and there was still a part of Louis (and probably always would be) that refused to believe that. “You were worth everything, and if I-” he pauses, gives him a helpless little shrug. 

Harry doesn’t ask _if you what_ and Louis is grateful. Truthfully, he’s not sure what he would’ve said, and if that meant that there was still something there between them, or if it was just because of the topic they’d been discussing. Instead he reaches out for Louis’ hand, gives it a soft little squeeze. “Me too,” is all he says, and they sit there in silence, holding hands, until Zayn returns.

*

When Zayn returns, he decides to focus on a few different emotions, just like in their first session. Louis is made to go through shame (light brown on Harry’s skin) and disgust (a vomit-like shade), and thankfully they don’t circle back around to being in love. He does briefly touch upon sadness, and with everything that had been brought up before it’s not hard to slip into that mindset. Luckily, it doesn’t require any talking. 

A good while later it’s Harry’s turn, and Zayn asks him to focus on being in love as well. It’s probably because he thinks it’s easier, considering they’d talked about it when it was Louis’ turn to experience all those emotions. And it _is_ easier, apparently, because Harry doesn’t talk. He just sits there, this faraway expression on his face, and the petals on Louis’ skin turn a vibrant orange. 

He wants to ask him. Who he’s thinking about. If it’s the first person that made him feel in love again after Louis, or if there have been others, since. He wants to ask him _how_ he had been able to move on, and if this new person that was in Harry’s life - assuming there is one, but how can there not be when Harry is so _Harry_ \- was _the one_ like he’d always hoped Louis would be. But he doesn’t say anything, just watches Zayn work, the colour on the petals draining faster than he’d expected. He doesn’t know what that means. 

At least, not until Zayn looks up at Harry, and then shifts his gaze towards Louis. “It’d help if you talk,” he encourages Harry gently, and Louis really wants to shake his head and tell him _no_ because he’s not sure if he’s able to sit here and listen to stories about the boy who replaced him in Harry’s heart, but he can’t exactly leave. 

Harry bites his lip, and what can Louis do but give him a soft, hopefully encouraging smile? 

“I was just thinking about the way you used to look at me,” Harry says softly, and as he says it, the colour on Louis’ arm wobbles a bit. “And I realized that I didn’t quite remember.”

Louis swallows, firmly clamps his jaws together before he does something as stupid as gape at Harry because he’s talking about _them_. When he thinks about being in love he thinks about _him_. 

“It can be about anyone, Harry,” Zayn says softly. “It doesn’t have to be about Louis. What matters is that you can bring up the feeling. The stronger, the better.”

Harry colours a little bit, but he doesn’t look away when Louis meets his eyes. “I remember that it was the best feeling in the world. Having your attention. I could see it, how much you cared about me.” He lets out a soft breath. “It used to be all I wanted. For you to look at me like that always.”

Louis wonders when it stopped being enough. But he doesn’t say that, because sadness always lurks around the corner, and Harry’s been sad often enough lately that Louis doesn’t want to risk bringing it to the surface now. “I always felt so lucky,” he says instead. “That you fell in love with me. That despite everything, despite the distance, you loved me enough to not want to let me go.” He bites his lip, knows he’s bordering on saying something that will turn this conversation into something sad after all. “I could just… sit and admire you, for hours, really.”

The blush on Harry’s skin dips down underneath his collar bones, disappearing under his shirt, and Louis flicks his eyes back up to his face once he realizes that he’s staring. “Me too,” Harry says softly. “I’ve never had anyone I could just _be_ with. It was never hard, with you. I never felt like I had to be anything other than what I was.” The tattoo on Louis’ arm becomes infused with a vivid pink, a colour Louis knows means happiness. “Even now,” he tacks on, softly. “I thought it’d be harder. Seeing you again. And it is, in lots of ways. But it’s also just… nice.”

Louis isn’t sure he entirely agrees with that. This whole ordeal is certainly dragging up a lot of old hurt, but it _is_ nice to sit and allow himself to think about everything that had happened between them, everything it had meant. It’s just, he’s pragmatic, and he can’t help but think about what happens next. Once there’s no reason to see each other anymore. 

“That’s lovely, Harry,” Zayn says, and while he is undoubtedly frustrated with their inability to focus on one emotion at a time, he sounds gentle and sincere. Harry still looks at Louis as though he’s been scolded, and Louis can’t help but wink at him. He’s pleased to find the petals on his skin growing a little bit more pink in response.

They spend the rest of their time reminding each other of things they’d done together, things that had once made Louis feel so certain that he’d spend the rest of his life with Harry. Zayn works with what he’s given, eventually switching from in love to happiness, and ending the session by circling back to longing, much like he’d done the last time. Louis feels put through the wringer when they’re done, he’s ready for bed and a good cuddle with his cat, but he can tell that Harry feels tender, even before the tentative, “Lou, wait.” when they exit.

He stops, takes a deep breath before turning around to face him. Zayn’s doing a good job of pretending he’s not there, locking up the shop, and Louis reluctantly raises his eyes to Harry’s face. He doesn’t need the colours on his tattoo to tell him how Harry’s feeling for once, and he sighs, takes a step towards him to pull him into a quick hug.

Harry melts into him, his arms starting out careful, but then wrapping around Louis in a hug that should be uncomfortable, it’s so tight. It’s not though. Their bodies fit just like they always have, Louis’ nose pressed against Harry’s neck and Harry’s chin hooked over his shoulder. Louis finds it hard to remember why he should draw back. 

“I missed you.” Harry whispers in his ear, and to his own embarrassment Louis can feel tears prick his eyes. “Can we-”

Louis isn’t ready for whatever way that sentence is going to end. He pulls back with a soft sound, shakes his head even when he attempts to smile. “I’ve gotta go,” he says, though he can’t keep himself from reaching back out and squeezing Harry’s shoulder. He doesn’t want to hurt him, but he can’t avoid it at all costs, not when it means he’s leaving himself vulnerable for Harry to hurt him instead. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

Harry’s shoulders sag. Louis sees it, and has to ignore the urge to hug him again. He nods instead, calls out a shaky goodnight to Zayn, before practically running off towards home. 

His cat refuses to cuddle him, and in some strange way he feels like he’s deserved that.

*

Louis doesn’t _mean_ to be late on Sunday, but he also doesn’t mean to not be late. He spends his morning in bed, watching the hands of the clock move and knowing that he should be getting up if he wants to do everything he’s planned before he sets foot inside the tattoo shop. He doesn’t move, even when he’s running out of time.

It means he’s a little out of breath when he finally does make it out the door, because in good fashion he’s ran to the shop, wanting to at least make it look like he made an effort. “I’m here!” He pants, pushing the door open, only to find Zayn and Harry on the couch, giggling away.

“The way he looked when you told him- hi Louis!” Zayn grins at him, and Louis tries to stop his face from frowning. He doesn’t do a good job, if the tentative greeting Harry gives him is any indication. “I can understand why you liked him,” Zayn tells him, and yeah, he’s definitely frowning now. “We went out on Wednesday, and had a right laugh.”

Harry pushes himself up from the couch, looking clumsy, as though he’s not too sure he’s got full control over his limbs. He holds himself the way he’s barely ever done with Louis, as though he’s unsure, afraid of how he might be judged.

Louis _shouldn’t _judge. He knows that Harry was in a vulnerable state when he left him on Wednesday, and in a way he’s glad that he didn’t have to go home to his hotel alone. But it doesn’t mean that he’s not jealous, the emotion showing in yellow green on Harry’s arm. It’s mixed with a red brown, the irritation that Louis is struggling to push down. He hates that it’s that obvious, hates it even more that Zayn just raises an eyebrow at him before moving towards the chairs. He knows he’s being unfair, but he also knows that he can’t just force his emotions. It’d be a hell of a lot easier if he could, because then he wouldn’t have spent the better part of a year trying to get over Harry.

(And that’s him being kind to himself, in reality he’s not sure he _ever_ fully managed to get over him.) 

“I’m glad you had fun,” he says, then winces. “I mean, I’m not, it’s obvious. But that’s stupid. I should be glad. I’m trying to be.” He rubs at his forehead, sits down in his usual seat, Harry gingerly shifting onto the tattoo chair. “Unless you want me to continue feeling this way, because I’ll tell you now, it’s probably going to be hard to push it down if you want me to focus on something else.”

Zayn shrugs a shoulder. “I can work with it. You’re just going to have to tell me what you’re feeling, exactly.”

“Irritation,” Harry answers instead of Louis. He’s studying his arm, looking up at Louis as though to check that what he’s saying is true. It’s not an emotion that Louis felt in regards to Harry all that frequently, though it has shown up on his skin over the years. There’s always things that irritate, but the feeling is usually fleeting. “And-”

Louis swallows. “Jealousy.” He says, before Harry can.

“Jealousy.” Harry echoes, a hint of surprise in his voice as his eyebrow arches up a little bit. His eyes look soft, almost sad. Louis bites his lip and finds that he can’t hold his gaze. “Because I went out with Zayn?”

“Haz-”

“I met his boyfriend. Liam. He’s lovely.” It’s a little pointed, and Louis finds his face heating up. He also finds that it’s just that little bit easier to breathe.

It’s ridiculous. He doesn’t know what Harry’s life is like, whether he belongs to someone else, if someone has the right to be jealous, but he finds that what could be isn’t as pressing as what is. Some faceless person back in America somehow seems less of a threat than Zayn, beautiful real life flesh and blood Zayn, who has made Harry smile in a way that Louis hasn’t been able to do in years. But he has no right to be jealous of either of them, because even if Harry did hook up with Zayn, Louis has no claim on him. He lost that right years ago, but tell that to his emotions, apparently.

“Oh,” is all he says, but the yellow green on Harry’s skin fades a little. Zayn says nothing in response to the exchange, but he’s smirking a bit as he sits down to check up on Harry’s tattoo. 

It’s almost routine by now, and while some emotions come easier (and have already begun to fade on each other’s skin) others are harder still to conjure up, especially now that they’re talking about it. Zayn hasn’t said that they should, but it’s second nature now, the floodgates opening afters years of not being in touch. 

They’re meant to be focusing on nostalgia, and the subject lands on holidays they had planned together but never got around to actually taking. Louis remembers wanting to bring Harry to Paris, for no other reason than that he wanted to kiss him under the Eiffel Tower

(he doesn’t say that at one point in time he’d considered proposing to him there too, no matter how cliche it might have been).

Harry brings up their old plan to visit a few of the world’s most famous heritage sites, and Louis is glad that Zayn is working on his tattoo, not Harry’s, when the latter tells him that he’d actually visited some of them, because a stab of jealousy works its way through him (one that Harry thankfully either doesn’t notice or ignores blossoming on his skin) when he tells him of how he’d visited not just Yellowstone - something that made sense when Harry lived in the USA - but also had gone on holiday to Croatia to see the Plitvice Lakes. 

“How was it?” He asks despite himself, because he remembers pouring over internet sites together, both in person and over the phone, seeing the pictures and imagining themselves there. Walking hand in hand, over wooden bridges and tiny stone paths. Of seeing the waterfalls and the clear water that had such a distinct colour that it was breathtaking even on a laptop screen. “Was it everything we - you - thought it would be?”

The purple on his skin becomes infused with silver, and Zayn looks up at Harry, but doesn’t say anything. He just focuses back on Louis’ arm, and quietly inspects the new colour before making some different wand movements. Louis isn’t sure if that means he’s shifted to a new emotion, wishes Harry would tell him what it means, these colours together, because he’s seen them before, but never while they were together. 

“It was-” Harry shakes his head. “It was incredible, Lou. One of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life. But I missed you, when I was there. We’d talked about it so much, I couldn’t help but feel like I was cheating you out of the experience.” He glances down at his lap, mumbles something that Louis almost doesn’t catch: “I thought of calling you, before I went, ask you to come with me.” 

His heart gives a painful thump. Would he have said yes, if Harry had called? How recent had it been? Did this mean Harry had never quite forgotten about him either? There’s so much he wants to ask, but all he does is bite his lip. 

“It wouldn’t be fair to expect you to keep from doing certain things just because we’d talked about doing them together, Haz,” he says quietly, after Harry seems unwilling to break the awkward silence between them. “I’m not mad that you went.” He’d thought about it too. Not necessarily the lakes but other places they’d talked about. But it had been too painful for a long time. He’d have had Harry walking with him, even if only in his own head. “Did you-” he’s not sure he wants to finish the question, but his mouth forms the words before his brain can tell it not to. “Did you go alone?” The implication is there. They haven’t mentioned relationships, but from the little information that Louis has been given through their tattoos, there have been others. If not full blown relationships, then at least feelings.

Harry shakes his head again. “No,” he says, and it’s reluctant. “I mean yes, I did. Jake is-” he swallows. “It’s not really his sort of thing.”

Louis wants to tell him not to look at his arm, because it’s there, clear as day. The hurt those words bring up, the fact that there’s a Jake at all, that Harry’s talking in present tense. The implication that this is long term, because they’re taking holidays together. 

He wonders if _home_ is with Jake and it stings so badly he can barely breathe for a moment. He tries to remind himself that just a few weeks ago he thought Harry having a home was a good thing, that he loves - loved - him enough that he wanted good things for him, even if that meant moving on. Their relationship was in the past but somehow, with everything they’d been forced to bring back to the surface, it doesn’t really feel that way anymore.

“Oh.” Is all he says. He wonders what sort of thing _is_ Jake’s kind of thing, if he doesn’t like nature, because he knows Harry does. Past Harry did at least, but if not-so-past Harry had gone to the lakes alone, Louis has an inkling he hasn’t changed that much, at least not in that regard. “That’s-” he doesn’t even know what to say. “I’d have come with you, if you’d asked.” He’s sure he would have. Even if it would have possibly been the most awkward holiday ever. It might’ve been nice, in its own way. A chance to reconnect. He’s missed Harry, beyond what their relationship had meant. They’d been close, best friends in some ways. It would have been nice to get that back. 

Harry nods. “I think I knew that.” He says softly. “I think that’s why I didn’t call.” He looks up at Louis. “I wasn’t ready, to let you back in my life.”

They’ve barely noticed, but Zayn has stopped working, and it’s only because he announces he’s going outside for a smoke that they notice it now. Louis shifts to sit up, tries to mask the hurt that Harry’s words stirred up. “Did I hurt you that much?” He asks quietly.

“No.” Harry doesn’t look up. “And yes. I hurt myself, just as much. I know that - neither of us planned it this way, Lou. I was hurt, but I knew that you never meant to break my heart. It just-”

“Happened.” Louis finishes, and Harry nods. 

“Long distance relationships _suck_. Knowing that how I felt wasn’t enough? It took me a really long time to be even remotely okay with that. I didn’t think that reaching out to you was a great idea, not when I was just getting to a good place.” He explains.

Louis nods. He can understand that. “Then why now?” He asks, the question that’s been lingering in his mind since he first got the call. What had made Harry decide to remove the tattoo now? As soon as he asks though, he wants to take it back. He likes that they’re talking again, that things between them are being aired out and that it even feels like old times, sometimes. He doesn’t want to ruin that by bringing up too much too soon. “No, you don’t need to answer that. Just - are you in a good place still? That’s all that matters, H. Are you happy?” 

He knows Harry isn’t. Not fully, at least. He’s seen far too much blue on his skin lately for Harry to be completely happy. 

“I’m getting there,” Harry says, and this time he does meet his eyes. “This -- it’s something I needed to do to _be_ happy, you know?”

Louis doesn’t, but how can he say that? If he’d had his way he would’ve lived the rest of his life with this connection to Harry on his arm, but then he’s always been rather good at sticking his head in the sand and pretending his problems would go away. Maybe Harry’s right and this is better. Maybe this will finally give them closure, even if Louis feels more and more like an open wound with every session.

Zayn returns and the topic gets shifted, and it’s not until the end of their session when Harry’s on the toilet and Louis is outside, smoking a cigarette with Zayn, that he has the courage to ask him if he knew what the sparkly purple on his skin had meant. Zayn looks hesitant for a moment, blows out cigarette smoke with an almost sigh. “You’d have to ask Harry to be sure,” he says eventually, when he seems to realize Louis isn’t going to leave without an answer (one he is too scared to ask Harry for), “but if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it’s most likely saudade.”

Louis gives him a look. “I’m not even going to pretend I know what that means,” he tells him, and Zayn snorts. 

“Thought you were clever,” he teases, and Louis flicks him off with a smile.

“I’m witty. ‘s not the same thing.” 

Zayn just shrugs. “It’s close to melancholy, or nostalgia. In essence, it’s the longing for something or someone that you love. Knowing that whatever you love might never return to you.” 

Louis looks at the ground. He almost regrets asking, because it feels too intimate. He shouldn’t know that that’s how Harry felt, and he certainly shouldn’t be discussing it with Zayn. No matter how nice he’s been to the two of them. “D’you think - I’ve seen it on my arm once or twice before. Do you think that means it’s about me?”

He’s sure that Zayn gives him a _look_, but it’s not him that breaks the silence. It’s Harry, voice soft and coming from somewhere behind him, likely from the doorway of the shop. “Of course it is,” he says, and Louis feels shamed and happy and embarrassed all at once. He looks up at Harry, who doesn’t look angry that they’ve been talking about this. He just seems sad, perhaps that Louis has doubted him? “So much of my feelings are connected to you, Lou. You were the first to bring a lot of them out of me, and the last for some of them too. I might go the rest of my life remembering you and what we had.”

“Regretting it?” Louis asks softly, turning to fully face him, even if he finds it hard to meet his eyes. When he does though, Harry’s are soft, in stark contrast to the way his fingers curl around Louis’ arm, gripping onto his bicep.

“Never.” It’s firm, and his eyes keep a tight hold on Louis’. “Don’t ever think that, okay? I don’t want to erase you from my memories.”

_Just your skin_, Louis thinks, and it’s a testament to how necessary this is when they both automatically try and read each other’s emotions by looking down at the ink on their arm. Louis reaches out, rests a hand over the flower on Harry’s skin, giving him a soft, albeit slightly sad smile. “I get it,” he says quietly. “The need to- I get it. It feels like too much, like I don’t have a right to know how you’re feeling all the time. Just because you gave me permission once doesn’t mean that you wouldn’t take it back now, if you could.” He pauses, swallows. “I can keep it covered up, if you want. When you’re - when you have to go back, before you can come around for the last couple of sessions. I don’t want - you deserve to be _happy_, Harry. Not stuck in the past with me. It’s not fair. I’m supposed to be in your past, and instead I’ve been in your present all these years. That’s not how it’s meant to be, with exes. You should be able to let me go.”

Even as he says it, the words feel hollow, and the way Harry looks at him is almost sharp. “You sound like Jake,” he says, and his words sound breathless, in an entirely wrong kind of way. 

“Is he-” Louis starts, but Harry shakes his head, pointedly looking down at his watch.

“It’s late. I should go. I’ll see you Thursday.”

Louis knows Harry has nowhere to go. He has no friends here, no one to hang out with or make plans with. It’s only four thirty, too early for dinner, so there’s no reason that Harry should hurry, except to get as far away from him as quickly as he can. 

Considering he’d done the same thing just last time, he thinks Harry’s probably earned a free pass, and so he doesn’t try to call after him. He briefly considers taking Zayn up on last time’s offer to smoke a spliff, but being as he already feels sad and vulnerable right now, he really doesn’t think that’s a great idea. So instead he heads home, and makes himself a little nest of blankets in his bed, and spends a good hour on the phone with Lottie, telling her about everything that had happened in the past couple of weeks. He loves all his sisters, but there’s something about the way Lots always listens to him that makes him feel particularly understood and comforted, and he sort of needs that right now. 

He might cry a little, but by the end of it, he feels a little better. He remembers what Zayn said, about the bond needing to stabilize a bit after a session, and he wonders if that’s why he’s so upset. He hopes that this conversation with Lottie (and the subsequent little mental breakdown) is enough to make it through the week, until their final session on Thursday. There’s a part of him that still wants to hide in bed and beg off of work, but it’s not like he’s sick. Lovesick, if that’s even what this is, is not a diagnosis any doctor will write a sick note for. He’s just got to grit his teeth and make it through, and believe that by the end of this, it’ll all be worth it.

*

Thursday rolls around far too quickly for Louis’ liking, and where he’d usually cherish his day off (and catch up on some chores that he doesn’t want to leave until the weekend) he is up practically at dawn this time, finding himself unable to sleep when this is the last time he’ll see Harry for a while. He’s leaving tomorrow and they’ve yet to talk about when he’ll return, and it’s just like every time he’s had to say goodbye to him except it’s ten times worse because this time Harry isn’t his and it’s the first of the last goodbyes he’ll have to say. It’s going to take maybe another two trips to the UK, and then Harry will never have to think of him again, for the rest of his life. 

He hopes it’s a relief for him, and he also hopes it isn’t. He feels like an asshole, because he doesn’t want Harry to be miserable, and he knows Harry won’t _actually_ forget about him - like he said, there were so many ways in which Louis was the first, the one he will always remember - but still. 

The more he’s erased, the less he feels like he matters, and he knows that it’s the right thing to do, but part of him wants to grab hold of Harry and tell him --

Louis can’t even finish the thought in his own head, because it’s not fair. It’s not like he’s still in love with Harry. Yes, there’s a part of him that always will be, but that’s eighteen year old Louis, not twenty four year old Louis who hadn’t spoken to him in three years prior to that phone call. And yes, Harry is still as enigmatic and beautiful as he’d ever been, but beyond that, what do they really know about each other? 

Maybe their souls recognize each other, on some level, but that’s some hippie ass bullshit and it’s nothing that Louis should lose his head over. Because he does know one thing, and that thing should be the most important thing about all of this: Harry has a boyfriend. He’s moved on, and no amount of bringing up the past is going to change that.

He refuses to admit that he makes an effort, dressing up just a little nicer than perhaps is warranted. He spends time on his hair until it fluffs up _just_ right, picks out pants that accentuate the curve of his ass, then a shirt that does the same for his collarbones. 

He has a good cuddle with his cat, and then has to go over his clothes with a lint brush to get rid of the hairs, but she only bopped him on the nose once and she didn’t use her nails, so Louis knows that she loves him and understands his need for affection. She still bites his ear when he tries to bury his face in her fur, and he comes away with hairs clinging to his lips, but he’ll take it. 

This time he isn’t late, nor is he early, he’s arriving exactly on time, and though he knows that Harry is waiting for him, his heart still leaps when he sees him in front of the shop. Waiting for him, perhaps, because when Louis calls out his name and jogs up to him, he can see that the door’s open and Zayn’s already inside, puttering around. 

“Haz,” he doesn’t mean to sound breathless but he does, and it’s got nothing to do with the jog and everything with the way Harry smiles at him.

“Hey Lou.”

Louis has an idle thought that he’s missed the way Harry said his name. Tons of people call him Lou but no one says it exactly the way Harry does, and it makes him want to reach out for him and wrap him up in a hug, possibly for the rest of eternity. He wants to ask him to keep calling him that, to keep _calling_ him, not just in between appointments but afterwards too, but that’s a hundred percent counterproductive to what they’re trying to achieve here, so he just smiles back at him instead. 

“Last day, huh?” He says softly, eyes flickering to where Harry is tugging the sleeve of his shirt over his knuckles. “Got anything planned, before you head back tomorrow?” He has no idea what Harry has been doing outside of their sessions, which is entirely his fault, because he’s all but run away two out of three times, when he knew Harry wasn’t opposed to spending a bit more time together. The weight of time running out crashes down on him now, and before Harry can answer him he reaches out, gently tugs his sleeve out from between his fingers. “Maybe we can go get lunch, after? I could cook?”

Harry’s hesitant expression turns into one of amusement. “You can cook?”

It’s only a joke, to dispel the tension, but Louis still flips him the bird. “No, I taught my cat to cook, smartass.”

Harry’s eyebrow lifts. “You have a cat?” 

Louis grins. “Did that just sell you on lunch at my place?”

There’s a small shrug but a pleased expression on Harry’s face. “More than the prospect of eating your food did, that’s for sure.”

Louis shouldn’t let him be such a little shit, but he has missed this, the way Harry teases him, the way he smiles that dimpled little smile when he’s being cheeky. There was a time, years ago, when Harry would bait him on purpose, until Louis ended up slamming him against the wall and snogging him to shut him up. It only takes him meeting Harry’s eyes to know that he remembers that too. There’s a brief thrill in Louis’ stomach (that he refuses to label as _potential_) that makes him consider pressing this, but before he can make that mistake, Harry casts his eyes down towards the ground and then lets them skitter towards the entrance of the shop. “We should-” he says, and Louis swallows, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Yeah.”

*

Their session today is shorter than usual. Zayn explains, apologetically, that he doesn’t want to risk doing too much, when it might just make it harder for him the next time. He works on some brief emotions until he seems satisfied that they have disappeared completely. Relief, humiliation, boredom, those are all things he’ll never see on his skin anymore, and when Louis asks Zayn if that means the tattoo will simply be an outline when those feelings are present, Zayn shrugs. “Sometimes,” he says, explaining things in that vague way that he usually does. “Sometimes there’s underlying stuff, so. It depends.”

He’s a bit more forthcoming with information about the future of their tattoos, explaining that they’ll likely need four or five more sessions to be done, at least far enough that only the outline should be visible. “After that,” he tells them, “it’s easy enough to remove it separately, since you’ll no longer be connected. Or you can elect to keep it, as a memory.” Louis decidedly does not look up at Harry, refuses to acknowledge the thought that he’d like that, the flower something he’s gotten used to seeing over the years. Even if it’ll only be an outline, it’ll still be something that connects him to Harry. He knows though, that he’d remove it, if Harry asked. 

Probably.

Harry explains that he’ll have to see when he can take time off, looks hesitant when he meets Louis’ eyes. “I’ll call you?” he asks, almost as though he’s unsure whether or not that’s allowed. 

“I’d like that,” Louis says. He knows Harry means about when he’ll be coming back, that he’ll leave it up to him to make further appointments with Zayn, but the sentiment stands. Harry’s smile is small, but soft. 

Zayn gives them both his personal number, which is probably not something a professional should do, but Louis still appreciates it because he thinks him and Zayn could be friends after this, maybe. It’s a nice idea to meet up for a drink at some point, so he’s happy giving Zayn his number in return. 

He watches Zayn and Harry hug as they say their goodbyes, and despite the fact that Harry hadn’t actually said yes to coming to his place for lunch, Louis lingers awkwardly, feeling a mix of jealousy (not in any romantic way, just, he misses Harry’s hugs) and fondness at seeing the two of them interact. He’s always liked seeing Harry with other people, as though it made him more real. He used to love to just watch him, feel pride and affection rush through him as others fell under Harry’s easy spell. 

There must still be some of that affection visible in his eyes because when Harry turns towards him, his demeanor softens, and he looks as though he wants nothing more than to wrap Louis up in a hug too. “Is this it?” Louis asks, and he doesn’t mean for it to come out so quietly, but it does. He scrapes his throat. “The offer for lunch is still on the table, if you want?” 

This time Harry doesn’t look so hesitant. He just looks _soft_, and Louis can be forgiven for wanting to bask in it a little bit longer.

He tries not to think about whether or not he’s thinking the same thing, but Harry does nod yes, and while their walk to his apartment is silent it doesn’t really feel awkward this time.

(Louis does drop his keys, and when Harry bends over to pick them up Louis nearly headbutts him when he goes to do the same thing, but aside from _that_, at least, it isn’t awkward.)

“Make yourself at home,” he says softly, having managed to open the door. Harry immediately goes off in search of his cat, and by his delighted squeal he has located her, probably lounging on the sofa, getting cat hairs all over the blanket she’s not meant to be on (but always curls up on for a nap when she thinks he isn’t looking). Louis just shakes his head and smiles, heads towards the kitchen after kicking off his shoes and closing the door. “Anything you’re in the mood for?”

All he gets in response is softly crooned words that Louis is pretty sure are for his cat (as he doesn’t recall Harry ever calling him _a pretty girl, so beautiful aren’t you, oh just look at you, you’re to die for_), and he laughs to himself, checking the pantry for some inspiration.

There’s about everything he needs for fajitas. There’s just one tiny problem. “Harry?” He stands in the doorway to the living room, sending Harry his best innocent look. “Haz-”

Harry is on his stomach in front of the cat, who looks unimpressed, albeit curious, her whiskers twitching contentedly as she allows him to pet her soft fur. He doesn’t look up until Louis lets out a soft whine. “Mm?” He asks, giggling when his cat bats a claw at his curls, looking right at home and like he doesn’t want to move. Louis sort of wants to curl up with him and forget all about the prospect of lunch. 

“I could make fajitas.” Louis says weakly. “But-”

Harry snorts. “Really?”

“Haz.”

“Lou.”

“Please?”

With a drawn out sigh, Harry pushes himself up into a sitting position. “You invite me over for lunch, and now I have to cook it?”

Louis beams, glad that Harry’s catching on. “Your fajitas are the best babe, you know it.” He hadn’t _planned_ for Harry to cook, he did actually want to show him that he’d become a more than decent cook, but, Harry’s fajitas were impossible to even try to replicate, let alone improve. And now that he had Harry here, for at least a couple more hours, he would be an idiot _not_ to take advantage of it. 

Whether it’s his puppy eyes or the fact that he’s called him babe (something Louis only belatedly realizes), Harry concedes, reaching out a hand for Louis to help him up off the floor. There’s a moment where Louis accidentally overbalances, and Harry has to steady himself with a hand on Louis’ chest, a moment where they’re so close it’s almost too much, the two of them looking at each other, closer than they’ve been in years--

And then Louis steps back, because Harry has _Jake_ and Louis is a lot of things but he’s not a cheater and he’s not stupid, and nothing good could come from figuring out if they still matched up as well as they did all these years ago.

*

It’s over lunch - that is just as excellent as Louis remembers, if not better, and he tries valiantly not to wonder if Harry’s made Jake fajitas and called it a family meal the way he used to with Louis - that Harry finally tells him. 

“Jake wants me to remove the tattoo,” he says quietly, and Louis just sits there for a moment, half chewed up fajita in his mouth, not sure how that confession is supposed to make him feel. He swallows his food, despite the lump in his throat, finds himself reaching out for Harry, his fingers brushing awkwardly over knuckles until he’s covering his hand with his own.

“And you?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound accusatory, but he can’t quite help it, he can only hope Harry understands that the slight coldness to his tone has nothing to do with Harry and everything with Jake. There’s anger burning in his chest, but he tells himself to calm down, just because Jake was the one to suggest it doesn’t mean-

Harry shakes his head. “I mean, it makes sense, yeah? Like you said. You’re my past, and he’s-” he lets that sentence hang in the air unfinished, just shrugging again. He looks miserable.

Louis wants nothing more than to climb over the table and wrap him up in a hug. Not for selfish reasons this time, just because he’s never been able to stand seeing Harry upset. It was bad enough seeing it on his arm, it’s much worse in real life. At least this time he’s got the chance to do something about it. “Haz,” it’s soft, his hand tightening minutely on Harry’s own. “Why?” He asks quietly, instead of trying to convince him of something he’s not even sure of. “Why’s it matter that you have that tattoo when we _are_ in the past? Why should he care?”

“Because I do.” Harry doesn’t meet his eyes. He takes a deep breath, as though there’s more to say, but then stays silent. 

“Harry.” Louis sounds weak, and he too isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say.

The sound of his name makes Harry look up. “It’s not like - I’m not like, in love with you anymore, or anything. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Louis echoes softly, but all it does is make Harry frown. 

“But I still _care_. You were a big part of my life for such a long time. I’m still - I like knowing where you are, and if you’re okay. I like knowing you’re happy and I hate it when you’re not.” 

Louis understands that. He’s had to stop himself from picking up the phone so many times over the years, whenever he saw that Harry was struggling. It got easier once he saw orange on his arm that first time, but only marginally. And it also got harder in different ways.

“Jake said it was time to let you go. That until I did, I could never truly move on. And that - he’s not wrong, is he? It’s not normal, or healthy, to still be so invested in you when we haven’t spoken in three years.”

No, Louis has to concede, Jake isn’t wrong, per se. He’d probably agree with him, if it were anyone other than him and Harry. He’d almost feel sorry for him, but he can’t, because he understands now, why Harry’s been so sad recently. “Baby,” he doesn’t even notice the endearment, only notices the way Harry looks up at him at it, soft and slightly teary eyed. “You should never feel like you have to do something you don’t want, in a relationship.”

Harry swallows. “But if I don’t-” he looks away, pulls away too, and Louis’ hand ends up lying uselessly alone on the table. “If I don't, then I’d be making the same mistake I made with you. If I’m unwilling to do something that I don’t want, I end up losing him like I lost you.”

Louis closes his eyes. “Harry.” He wishes he had the right words, wishes he could tell him that it was different, this time, but he can’t, because he’s not sure Harry hasn’t got a point, and it hurts. It hurts that he’s still hurting him over that one decision, years ago. Especially when Louis can’t fully regret it. It was too much, at that age, and he knows that they would have resented one another for it, had they truly gone for it. 

“Did you love me?” It’s barely more than a whisper, but it cuts to the core, and while Louis’ eyes fly open in indignation, it all fades at seeing the quiet, broken boy in front of him. He does get up from his seat then, kneels down by Harry’s side, hand shaking when he reaches up to cup Harry’s cheek.

“More than anything.” He whispers back. 

“Then why wasn’t it enough?” Harry brings his own hand up to cover the one on his cheek, his eyes looking so pained that Louis almost can’t hold his gaze. “Why was it -- I loved you too. So much. So much more than I’ve ever loved anyone. People said that I would get over it, that I was too young, that I’d know what real love was, eventually.”

“What we had _was_ real.” Louis had heard it too. Before and after they’d broken up, as though it was some sort of consolation. As though he’d look back, later, and find himself naive for ever feeling the way he’d done about Harry. “It’s been the realest thing I’ve ever felt, Harry. Don’t ever let anyone try and convince you that it wasn’t.” He brushes his thumb over the soft skin underneath Harry’s eye, trying to catch the tears before they glide down his cheek. “But.” He takes a breath, swallows. “But that doesn’t mean that this, that what you have with Jake is any less real. And if he’s the one you love, if he’s the one you want to spend your life with, then, I’m okay with you letting go of a piece of me.” His other hand comes to rest on Harry’s tattoo, fingertips tracing the outline. “This, it doesn’t change who we are or were to each other. Not knowing how I feel in the future doesn’t mean that what we had in the past was any less important. Okay? You can let me go, Harry. It’s alright.”

Harry nods, but it’s shaky, and he moves, arms around Louis so tight that he can barely breathe. “I’ll never forget you, I _swear_.” He whispers fiercely, and Louis can only hug him back and pray that he’s somehow managed to say the right things.

*

He drives Harry to the airport the next morning, and though Harry’s quiet he seems less sad than he did the afternoon before. Louis is glad he took the morning off work just to be able to drop him off, and not just because he gets a hug and a promise of “I’ll call you” before Harry disappears through customs.

*

Harry doesn’t call, but he texts when he’s back in America, just a simple text to let him know he’s arrived safely. Louis texts him back something generic, and he regrets it for the next two weeks when he doesn’t hear anything from Harry. 

He thought he’d miss him less, now that they’ve seen each other again, but in fact he only misses him more than ever. A couple of hours spent together and he’s paying more attention to his phone than he can remember doing in years, but it remains frustratingly silent for a whole month. 

Louis keeps his tattoo covered up out of some strange sense of respect for Harry, even though he knows Harry wouldn’t know (and perhaps wouldn’t even care) if he’s keeping an eye on him. It just feels like the right thing to do, even if it really drives home the point that Jake made. He is still invested in him, checking his arm is an almost unconscious habit, something he does whenever he’s got nothing else on his mind. Except now he’s looking at a wristband that ironically says _it gets better_ when Louis still checks as often on day 28 as he did on day 1. 

It’s on day 32 (not that Louis has been counting) that Harry calls. Louis hates how the caller ID makes his heart skip, hates how he knows the colours that might be blossoming on Harry’s skin at the sound of his voice. “Hi,” is all Harry says, and Louis sends a hopeless look up at the ceiling when he can’t keep himself from grinning. 

“Hi,” he responds, knowing that he should be annoyed or upset that Harry hasn’t called him, even if he hadn’t actually promised him he would, with the exception of when he knew he’d be able to come over again. How can he be truly annoyed though, if that’s the reason Harry’s calling; when it means seeing him again? 

Louis is well aware that his resurfaced feelings for Harry will become a problem in the future, once Harry’s finished with him and has gone back home to Jake, but that’s something for future!Louis to deal with. Besides, it’s not all that serious. It’s mainly the past being brought up that’s making him feel this way. It has nothing to do with the fact that Harry is still as handsome, charming, funny and all around wonderful as ever. 

“It’s been a while,” Harry, to his credit, sounds apologetic, like he too understood the unspoken implication that they would actually keep in touch. “I … needed some time.”

Louis hums. “It’s okay,” he assures him, trying hard to play at sounding casual. “I’ve been busy.” Working, and hanging out with his cat, and going to the pub with Zayn once or twice. And Liam. Harry was right. He _is_ lovely. And though seeing the two of them so loved up together had been sort of nauseating, it had also been nice. Liam had told him about the first time he’d met Zayn, ironically, when he was in a quite similar situation to Louis. Except his ex had been a girl, and Liam had never even considered the possibility of being into men, before. Point is, seeing the two of them together, seeing that there was the chance of a happy ending, of finding a second, real love - it was nice. It was good knowing that he had that to look forward to, and while he still didn’t like the thought of Jake telling Harry to get rid of Louis’ connection with him, he did genuinely hope that he was everything Harry wished for otherwise.

“Yeah.” Harry says, and stays silent for a while. Louis wishes it wouldn’t make him smile. “Listen, I-”

“Have a break coming up?” Louis ventures, relishing in the sheepish chuckle it earns him. “I figured. When are you gracing us with your presence again, then?” 

“Month and a half, if that’s okay? My boss wasn’t too happy when I asked for more time off, but once I explained the situation, she understood. I can do some work when I’m over there, bring my laptop. But I don’t have any appointments scheduled for about three weeks. I know that maybe I should’ve asked if you had plans-”

He absolutely should have, because for all Harry knew Louis could have planned to visit his family, or go on holiday, so he _should’ve _checked in before rearranging all his appointments. “No, it’s fine.” Because Louis is that sad person who is married to his job more than anything, and he can go see his family on the days that he doesn’t have any sessions with Harry. “That works out fine, don’t worry about it. I’ll call Zayn then, yeah, see what he’s got available?”

Harry hums approvingly. “Maybe leave it a couple days though? Like. I’m coming on Thursday this time, but not until somewhere in the afternoon. Maybe we can see about booking an appointment on Sunday, so I’ve got some time to settle in? Jetlag was pretty bad last time, and with the shock of seeing you again, I didn’t sleep as well as I should’ve.” 

Louis isn’t sure how those words are meant to make him feel, so he just hums back in response. It’s the most non-committal sound he can give under the circumstances, without outright ignoring what he said. It’s just, what is he supposed to say? It was Harry’s choice to come over and see him, yet he’s making it sound like Louis just showed up on his doorstep one day. 

“It was nice though,” Harry hurries to add, once he’s heard Louis’ hum. “I mean. Hard, but. Seeing you again, that was nice.” 

Louis sends another look up at the ceiling. “It’s alright, Harry,” he says softly. “I know what you meant.” Sort of, anyway. It hadn’t stopped his feelings from being hurt a little bit. “It’ll be nice seeing you again.” He finds, to his relief, that he means it. Even knowing how complicated things between them are and undoubtedly will get, it’ll be nice having him around again. Even if only for a while. “What Thursday are you coming in? If it’s my day off, I could come pick you up from the airport, if you’d like?”

“The 28th,” Harry says, and Louis can hear him rustling through papers, as though verifying for himself whether he’s got the right date. “But you don’t have to do that.”

Louis gives the ceiling one last, despairing look. “I want to.”

*

The next month and a half go by quickly, and slow all at the same time. Quickly because he’s no longer waiting to hear from Harry. Slowly because they’ve been texting some since that phone call, and with every conversation Louis gets more and more eager to see him. 

He doesn’t ask about Jake. 

It’s not like their conversations are really meaningful, but they are. It’s mostly little snippets about their day, memes that remind them of each other. Small updates on the family. It’s a nice way of being reintroduced to Harry’s life and it’s gonna make it so much worse once he’s pushed out of it for good, but Louis is willing to suffer the pain for the way his heart skips whenever his phone buzzes. They don’t talk about any hard things, but they’re in touch, in a way Louis never thought they would be again.

He almost contemplates asking Harry to stay with him, but he doesn’t, isn’t sure that’d be a good idea. Not because of Jake - frankly, Jake can choke if he has an issue with Harry staying with a _friend_, especially since he’s already made Harry do something he didn’t want by telling him to remove the tattoo - but because Louis is going to need some time to himself if he’s going to make it through seeing Harry and knowing he can’t touch him. It’s why he’s glad for the buffer Zayn will provide, for the setting they’ll be in that’ll make it so he can’t do something he’ll regret. It wouldn’t be fair to Harry, and frankly, it wouldn’t be fair to his own heart either. Especially when he’s still not sure what it is he’s feeling. Is it just left over from their past together? Or is he falling for him all over again? It’d be ridiculous, if he were, if he were truly falling in love over memes and _how was your day_’s. But then Harry’s always been the exception to every rule Louis made.

He doesn’t think about what would happen if he were to tell Harry. He’s not going to do that to him. Harry’s in a serious relationship, and even if he weren’t--

Louis can’t do long distance again. He can’t willfully break his own heart a second time.

He doesn’t pull back though. He’d rather have this than nothing at all, even if he forces himself to remember that it has an expiration date that is quickly coming closer.

The 28th approaches, and Louis finds himself at the airport even before Harry’s flight lands, checking the itinerary on the board what feels like every two minutes. He’s texted him that he’s here, knows Harry likely won’t read it until he’s through customs and at the baggage carousel - where Louis could see him, if he stood in the right spot, could see the way Harry responded to hearing from him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel butterflies, remembering the (far too few) times he’d been waiting for him in the past. The way Harry’s face would light up upon seeing him, how he’d be so eager that it looked like it was actually killing him to have to wait for other people to have their turn coming through the doors. That first touch, that first _kiss_.

He might be dreaming of it a little now, despite himself, and it’s only when he feels the phone buzz in his hand that he startles out of it.

_Harry: I see you_

Louis tries to hide his smile.

_Louis: creep_

Harry doesn’t text back, but when Louis looks up he can spot him, far away but still so recognizable. Harry might be making a funny face at him, he can’t tell from this distance, but Louis still has to wrangle his muscles into submission so he doesn’t beam at him.

He fails, massively, once Harry finally steps through those doors, and it’s just like the old days, Harry hurrying towards him, not stopping until he’s dropped his bags in favor of wrapping Louis up in a hug. Louis clings to his phone and also to Harry, his face tucked in the crook of Harry’s shoulder, breathing in that slightly stale airplane smell, wishing that he would never have to move. “Hi,” he whispers, practically into his skin, and he hides a smile when it makes Harry shiver. 

“Hi Lou.” It’s soft and fond and just for him, and how can Louis _not_ melt? They stand there, longer than is probably customary, wrapped up in each other, reconnecting in a way that is only possible in each other’s presence. “Missed you.” It’s quiet, so quiet that Louis isn’t sure Harry even meant for him to hear. 

He holds him closer in response, knows better than to try and make his mouth work because he’s sure that whatever he would end up saying would be far too personal, would ask for far too much. He stays close because the alternative is pulling back and he honestly can’t guarantee he won’t try and kiss him. And doing that would hurt Harry, so he can’t, no matter how much his body (and his memories) are trying to trick him into believing it should happen.

They eventually break apart, and Louis finally gets a good look at him. “Tired?” he asks softly. Harry took an overnight flight to arrive in the afternoon, accounting for time difference, and Louis remembers that Harry was never really able to sleep on planes. It doesn’t look like that has changed, but despite his fatigued look he’s smiling.

“A bit,” he admits, then promptly has to stifle a yawn. “Bit more than a bit, actually.” He concedes, and Louis laughs.

“C’mon. I’m taking you to my place. I made us lunch,” Louis sees that Harry is about to protest, and quickly tacks on “and then I can drive you to your hotel for a nap.” It only serves to make Harry frown harder, but he doesn’t argue, and he even lets Louis take his bag.

It’s not too long of a drive to his house, thankfully, because Harry looks more asleep by the second, and Louis wonders if he’s going to even make it through lunch. When Harry practically stumbles inside the apartment, Louis fondly rolls his eyes. “C’mon,” he wraps an arm around his waist without thinking on it. “I’m sorry, I should’ve taken you straight to your hotel. I should’ve known you wouldn’t be up for food.” He says quietly.

Harry stifles another yawn, body leaned comfortably into Louis’. “No,” he says softly, everything about him soft now, soft and sleepy. “‘s okay. I like that I’m here. Wanted to spend time with you.” 

Louis feels his heart ache. “Me too,” he manages, voice barely more than a whisper. He manages to bring Harry into his bedroom, knowing he should take him to his guest room but also knowing that his own bed is a lot more comfortable. It has nothing to do with the fact that one is a single and the other is a queen-sized one, and whether or not he might be invited to stay. Louis might be hopeful, but he isn’t calculating, not when he knows better than to take advantage of Harry’s lowered defenses. “Here, lie down.” He rests a hand on his shoulder, wonders if it’d be weird to help him take off his shoes. “Rest for a bit, yeah?” 

Harry looks up at him, gives him this smile that makes his heart thump wildly in his chest. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just takes him in. There’s a small nod, after what feels like an eternity of being caught up in each other’s gaze. “Thanks,” he whispers, and Louis has to swallow twice and then still can’t make his mouth work, so he just nods back. “Will you-” Harry starts, and Louis swallows once more.

“I’ll be in the living room,” he points towards it, like Harry doesn’t know where his living room is. “You only need to call for me, if you need anything.” 

Harry nods again, doesn’t bother to do more than remove his sweater and toe off his shoes, curling up on the bed, all without taking his eyes off of Louis. Louis feels sort of frozen in the doorway, wishes desperately that he would ask, and also fervently hoping that he wouldn’t. They’re barely friends, he’s sure that cuddling would cross some sort of line, no matter how good it had felt to be in his arms at the airport. 

“Get some rest,” he says softly, instinct taking him closer to the bed, to - he’s not sure. Fluff up a pillow? Tug the blankets over him? It all feels too intimate, but not enough at the same time. He ends up brushing his fingers through the curls feathering out over Harry’s forehead, relishing in the soft, happy sound that Harry makes in response. “I’ll see you when you wake up.”

Harry mumbles something so unintelligible that Louis is long in his living room before he’s deciphered his words, and then he’s sure he must be mistaken. He must have heard it wrong, because even half asleep it doesn’t make sense for Harry to say _I love you_.

At least. Not to _Louis_.

*

The house is quiet for two hours. Louis wishes his mind was equally as quiet, but although he is sat on the couch with his cat in his lap and the telly on (sound low as to not disturb Harry) his mind is racing. It all comes down to one question in the end: what is he _doing_? This whole ordeal started because Harry’s boyfriend wanted Harry to be able to move on, and yet here Louis is, bringing Harry to his home, cooking him food and letting him stay in his bed.

Yes, he could argue that he just wants their friendship back. But he knows that’s a load of bullshit. Part of him, if not all of him, wants a chance. To see if they could have a future, alongside their past. He wants to know if what he feels is real and not just nostalgia, some melancholic _once upon a time_ crap. He wants to know if Harry feels it too, if when he said he cared he meant he isn’t ready to give up on them, even though both of them would have sworn it ended three years ago. 

But then what? Even if Harry feels the same and even if it _is_ real, _especially_ if it’s real, then what? Would he be willing to give it all up, this time? Would he be willing to cross the pond and move to the US, to be with Harry? 

He’s almost ashamed when that thought still fills him with fear, with resistance. If he truly loves Harry, then he should do what’s right for him. Let him go.

He’s brought out of his thoughts at the sound of a shuffle in the hallway, his cat leaping off his lap, winding herself around Harry’s ankles if his giggle is any indication. “Hiiii,” he says, and Louis can just imagine him bending down to scratch behind her ears. He closes his eyes for a moment, shakes off the thought that this is all so lovely and domestic. “Hi Lou.” He moves into the room, cat cradled carefully in his arms. She looks almost smug, headbutting his chin, but then Harry settles on the couch, all but pressed up against Louis like he’s forgotten about the concept of personal space, and Louis sort of wants to send her a smug look back. “What’s her name?”

Louis stares at the telly, willing his face not to turn red. “Flo.”

“Flo.” Harry tastes the name on his tongue the way he sometimes does, his shoulder resting comfortably against Louis’. “I like it.”

He doesn’t ask any further questions, yet Louis feels compelled to tell him. “It’s short for Florida.”

Florida. Where Harry’s from. He almost wants to get up and ask him if he’s hungry, but that would be unfair, considering the amount of walking away they’ve already done. He’s meant to stay in this, in the awkwardness, deal with it the way any adult would. How else will they ever make progress and become friends, if they have to dance around any thing that relates to their past? “I couldn’t bring you here,” he explains quietly, “but it still felt like - I don’t know. Having a piece of Florida here, made me feel closer to you, somehow? It’s stupid.”

“No,” Harry shakes his head. “It’s not. I mean, I don’t have a cat called England, or anything, but, I understand the feeling. It’s nice. Sweet.”

Louis swallows. “I don’t feel very sweet,” he admits, glancing down at the floor because he can’t even pretend to hold any interest in what’s on TV. 

He doesn’t see Harry’s frown but he can hear it in his voice. “Why not? You picked me up from the airport, cooked me food, let me take a nap in your bed. Those are all sweet things. You didn’t have to do any of that.”

“I wanted to.” Louis shifts a bit, so he can look at Harry. “But I’m not supposed to, am I? I’m supposed to give you a chance to move on - I mean, you _have_ moved on, you’re with Jake now and that’s good, honestly, Haz, I’m happy that you’ve found love again - but here I am, keeping you tethered to the past. That doesn’t feel very fair.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Harry’s face, and Louis almost wants to look away because the last thing he can stand right now is to be mocked. “I’m a big boy, Lou. I can make my own decisions.” He says gently, and Louis wants to throw it in his face that it hadn’t sounded like that when he’d let Jake convince him to remove their tattoos, but the last thing he wants is to end up in an argument. “It’s okay to be selfish. I’m selfish too, in wanting to spend time with you. It’s been three years. I’ve missed you.”

“D’you think,” he doesn’t want to ask it, but he can’t help himself, the question needing to be asked. “D’you think we could be friends again?”

Harry reaches for him, slow, giving Louis every chance to pull away, but he doesn’t, just lets Harry brush his knuckles over his cheek. “We were never friends before,” he says, and all Louis can do is nod. Harry’s right. They were close, but never in the way that friends were. He wants the chance to explore if they can be, but he’s not sure how to go about it when every touch from Harry just makes him want _more_. 

“Is it bad that I want to be?” Is he really as unfair as he’s making himself in his head? 

Harry shakes his head. “We can be friends, if you want.” 

It’s not all that Louis wants but it’s better than nothing, so he’s quick to nod, equally quick to trap Harry’s hand against his cheek. “Please,” is all he says, quietly. Now that Harry’s back in his life, he can’t lose him again. Even if that means they’ll only ever be friends. Even if that means that inevitably they’ll drift apart. It’ll be agony but at least for _now_ he won’t have to think about saying goodbye.

It’s less than he wants and more than he expected, so he supposes he should consider it a happy medium.

*

They end up spending the evening together, as friends do. They eat dinner, watch some random movie on Netflix, Harry’s head pillowed on Louis’ shoulder, his hand absently petting Flo who is curled up in Louis’ lap. It’s wonderful, and Louis regrets having to drive him to his hotel, but he also knows that he can only be around Harry for so long when he’s affectionate and wonderfully soft, and if this friendship is going to stand a chance he’s going to have to lay down some ground rules for himself, just so he doesn’t end up fucking things up completely. So once the movie’s over, despite the fact that Harry’s half asleep, Louis makes him get up and take his things to the car, ignores his pout as he drives him to his hotel.

He gets a hug, so Harry’s not too upset, his hands low on Louis’ back, holding him close in a way that Louis has missed so much that he has to blink away tears when they break apart. “Get some rest,” he whispers, his hand automatically drifting to Harry’s hair, to tuck a curl behind his ear. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, yeah? I mean, I’ll be at work, but, you’ll probably be sleeping late anyway.”

“Have dinner with me?” It’s sleepy, his words almost slurred. His smile is so sweet that Louis feels his heart ache. He should say no.

“I’d love to.”

*

He doesn’t tell Lottie that he’s having dinner with Harry when she asks him what he’s up to on Friday, just tells her that he’s busy. It feels like a cop out, especially after the way they’d talked about everything, but he’s giving himself enough shit without her adding any to the mix. He doesn’t need her asking him what he’s doing, because he doesn’t _know_. He just knows that there’s no way he can deny Harry anything, and he’s going to offer him his heart on a silver platter and pretend he doesn’t know what the response will be. 

Harry’s made reservations, and he’s being all kinds of secretive about it, which really shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. He just tells Louis to dress up, and when he sends Harry a picture of his outfit, he gets a voice message from him, just the sound of Harry wolf whistling. He refuses to admit it makes him blush, but he can see it in the mirror, see the way his eyes shine just a little bit brighter at knowing Harry still finds him attractive on some level.

Louis makes sure Flo’s food bowl is filled up before he heads out the door, having agreed to meet Harry in the park, about midway between Harry’s hotel and his apartment, and quite close to the center of town. It’s all borderline romantic, made even more so when Harry shows up with a bouquet of flowers.

“Hi,” Harry says, and it’s so soft that Louis fixes his gaze on the flowers before he absolutely melts. “I um, I got you these.” He all but thrusts them in Louis’ face, but Louis can only look at him, then the flowers, feeling so absolutely fond even when there’s a part of his brain screaming that this isn’t the way friends behave.

Some of it must have shown on his face, because Harry gives him a sheepish chuckle, rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “I um. I thought back on like, old times. And how I’d always wanted to take you out on these amazing dates, but I could never afford it. I know it’s not like, we’re not like that now. But. I thought, even if it’s just as friends, maybe we can still, y’know. Have that moment?”

Louis is _fucked_. He smells the flowers, because that’s what people do, and absently notes that Harry’s managed to pick all of his favorites. Did he remember, or was it just something that some shopkeeper threw together? He doesn’t ask, just holds them close to his chest, swallows before looking up. “I’d like that,” he says, softer than he means to but he’s glad he’s getting his words out at all. “Thank you. The flowers are lovely.” Inconvenient, to take into a restaurant, but he doesn’t care. The gesture is just so nice and so _Harry_, and Louis wants to remember tonight forever. 

“Shall we?” Harry holds out his arm, and Louis takes it, beaming down at the gravel beneath their feet and wondering when his life started to resemble a rom com.

*

Harry’s picked a wonderful restaurant, a bit out of Louis’ usual price range (or, rather, it’s not that he can’t afford it, but just that it’s not the kind of place he’d choose to go, at least not when he’s with mates), with perfectly attired waiters and a lovely hostess who leads them to their table. There’s candles on the table, and multiple glasses and sets of cutlery, and if Louis weren’t halfway in love with him before he thinks he might be now, because Harry looks at once proud and sheepish, like he isn’t aware of how this is everything Louis had dreamed of, years ago. 

The night is, simply put, amazing. It surpasses his dreams. Harry, looking exquisite in the candle light, his easy smiles and the way his eyes are so soft whenever he looks at him. The food, every bite of it better than the one before, melting on his tongue. The wines, that taste amazing but don’t leave that heavy feeling in his head or his stomach, just make him feel warm and fluttery -- though, he thinks, that might just be Harry again. 

The conversation is easy, like no time has passed between them at all. Really, the only downside to the entire night is that Louis can’t reach out and hold Harry’s hand, like he would’ve done if this were an actual date. But it’s a small price to pay for a memory he can hold onto forever, a small slice of their past somehow fitting perfectly into their present.

He’s almost sad to see it come to an end, and when Harry - who has paid the bill despite Louis’ protests - extends his arm again as they head out of the restaurant, Louis tells him just that. “Tonight was so lovely,” he tacks on, quieter still, when even his first confession was barely more than a whisper. “Sort of like the kind of night you never want to end, you know?” 

Harry rests his hand on the one Louis has wrapped around his elbow, looks at him under the soft light of a lamp post. “It doesn’t have to,” he says, and his voice sounds just as soft. “We can go for a walk in the park. Or see if there’s one of those horse drawn carriages. Make it fully like the dates I always imagined.” 

Louis chuckles. “This isn’t the States, babe. We don’t have those, at least not at ten in the evening.”

“Pity.” Harry says softly, and Louis has to agree. The thought of being cuddled up under a blanket, taking a ride through the park, everything covered in darkness, with only the moon and stars lighting their way.. He knows it wouldn’t _actually_ be like that, that there’s still lamp posts and other people about, even at this hour, but still. A boy can dream. “We could still go for that walk though?”

Louis nods. “Maybe a drink, too? At a bar, or just at my place? I can’t promise you the wine will be as good as at the restaurant, but I’ve got some nice bottles at home. Things I got for promotions at work, or as a Christmas present.” He wasn’t a big wine drinker, but he enjoyed a glass now and then. The bottles had always seemed too lovely to open up on his own though. So he usually opted for something cheaper, figuring he’d leave those for a special occasion. What was more special than tonight with Harry? 

“Is that how your dream dates ended?” Harry teases him lightly. “By getting me drunk?”

Just like that, the mood shifts a bit, and Louis isn’t sure he isn’t glad for it. It’s dangerous, getting caught up in how lovely everything had been. And besides, this, the easy way they can tease each other, it’s a different kind of lovely. He waggles his eyebrows. “You have no idea.”

*

They do end up walking through the park for a bit, no longer arm in arm but the way their hands occasionally brush together still feels loaded, even when Louis knows it’s no more than an accident. Neither of them remarks upon it, instead they talk, continue catching up the way they’d done in text and in the restaurant earlier. Louis learns that Harry hasn’t changed all that much since they broke up, at least not when it comes to the things that count. Yes, he’s graduated now and got a job, he’s a proper adult in the eyes of society, but he’s still the same sweet, kind hearted boy with stars in his eyes that Louis met at age seventeen. He still loves life with the same intensity, still has this hope that things will get better, for himself and for society, and Louis is so grateful that he hasn’t taken that from him. He wants to tell him that, but he doesn’t know how to, without bringing the topic around to the regrets he feels, something they’ve already discussed and that he knows Harry has never blamed him for as much as Louis had blamed himself.

So he doesn’t say anything, he just bumps their shoulders together and tells him “I missed you” and from the look on Harry’s face he understands. 

It’s nearly eleven when they finally get to Louis’ place, and he wonders if he should even invite Harry in, or if it’s better to let him go back to his hotel. But he isn’t ready for tonight to end, and Harry doesn’t seem like he particularly wants to leave, so rather than asking him if he needs to be back at the hotel at a certain time he just opens up the door and invites him into his home much the same way he’s invited him into his heart. Harry can stay, for as long as he wants.

Much like previous times, Harry immediately goes off in search of Flo, while Louis heads to the pantry to open up a bottle of wine. He doesn’t get far though, is trying to decide between two good wines when he finds himself in the kitchen with Harry’s arms around him from behind, his chin hooked over his shoulder. “Lou,” it’s soft, and Louis closes his eyes for a moment, quite sure he’s forgotten how to breathe. “Thank you.”

“What for?” He’s surprised he’s managing to talk. His entire body feels so aware of Harry, his hand automatically coming down to cover the ones resting on his stomach. 

“Tonight.” Harry pulls him in a bit closer, until all Louis can feel is Harry, all around him, warmth at his back and breath fanning over his skin. It’s driving him a bit mad, but he focuses on his voice. “Everything. I’m glad that you’re back in my life. I’ve missed you.”

Louis wants to turn around in his arms but he’s afraid that if he does he’s not going to be able to resist kissing Harry. So he breathes out, tries to keep it steady, but his voice still comes out sort of shaky. “Me too,” he says. “I’m really glad we’re getting the chance to be friends.”

There’s a soft puff of air hitting the side of his neck, almost as though Harry is huffing. “Friends,” he repeats quietly, and something about the tone of his voice makes something tug in Louis’ stomach. “Yeah.”

It feels like they’re on the edge of something, balancing each other out just enough so that they don’t disturb that fragile equilibrium, but one small move and everything will end up in disarray, everything will _change_ and Louis is terrified of it, terrified and eager, because some things aren’t meant to exist in this state. Louis feels like he’s been holding his breath for weeks, months, maybe even years, subconsciously at first but on purpose lately, not wanting to push when he wasn’t sure how their fragile house of cards would come tumbling down. Wasn’t sure how the game would play out for him, and he’s been trying to take his cues from Harry but that doesn’t work when Harry seems to do the same with him. 

But he’s also scared of change, of losing the little they have, so he squeezes the hand that’s on his stomach and says, starts to say, “Did you still want-” but Harry interrupts him, his nose just underneath his ear, lips practically brushing against his skin.

“I broke up with Jake.”

Louis wants to believe that he’s a good person. He wants to think that he’s strong enough, selfless enough, to be there for Harry in his time of need. He wants to turn around in his arms and ask him if he’s okay, if he needs anything, _what happened, can I help?_

Instead all that comes out is a quiet “Oh,” as his hands drop limply to his sides. Only for a second though, because the moment he can feel Harry starting to pull away, he brings them back up, covering the ones on his stomach to keep him there. “Do you want to-” he isn’t sure how he’s going to finish that sentence, but Harry lets out a soft, almost desperate sound.

“God, yes.”

Louis isn’t sure if he turns around or if Harry turns him around, but he’s very aware of the fact that he’s suddenly pressed against the counter, Harry now a long line of heat against his front. To his credit, or Harry’s, there’s a moment. A moment where eyes meet and Louis can see the heat, but also the hesitance, in his expression. It causes him to bring a hand up to Harry’s jaw, thumb brushing over slightly stubbled skin. 

Whatever Harry sees in Louis’ eyes must be enough, because his jaw twitches but then relaxes, tension draining from him. The lips that press against his own are soft, a quiet puff of air exhaled against his mouth as Harry seems to grasp that this is the first kiss in over three years. Louis might be shaking a little bit, emotion threatening to overwhelm him, but he presses back, because this _is_ the first kiss in three years, and three years is far too long to go without kissing Harry, if the swooping sensation in his stomach is any indication.

Part of him wants to cry with how much he’s missed this, but a bigger, more pressing part of him wants everything that Harry is willing to give him, and Louis doesn’t think that that will ever change. Their house of cards has been toppled over, and he’ll find out just how big the damage is in the morning.

*

There’s something strange about falling back into bed with an ex. There’s the things that are the same as always, but then there’s things that are different, things that Harry must’ve picked up from other guys, places where he’s kissed that have never been explored before. Some do it for him and some don’t, but despite the knowledge that they’ve both shared beds with other people, it isn’t awkward.

It’s just… _right_. 

Afterwards, when Harry’s asleep, snoring softly into the pillow, Louis looks at him and that’s all he can think about. How fucking _right_ it feels to have him here again. He refuses to give into thoughts about their future, knows that once he starts he will build up a wall between them, whether or not he wants to. And right now, in the dark of night, he doesn’t want anything between them. He wants to be heart to heart, skin to skin, wants to be wrapped up in Harry’s arms and have time stop. 

_I love you_, he thinks, and then, because Harry’s asleep and not even Louis’ fingers brushing over his forehead are waking him up, he presses closer in his embrace and allows himself to say it out loud. “I love you Harry.”

*

When he wakes up on Saturday morning, it’s to the sound of someone whistling a tune in his kitchen. There’s a brief moment of confusion, but then he hears his voice, and he’s on his feet, making his way into the kitchen, before he can stop himself. 

Harry’s wiggling his bum to the tune he’s humming, is cooking breakfast, and everything would be so perfect if Harry wasn’t fully dressed. Whether it’s on purpose or not, it makes Louis wonder if he’s trying to put some distance between them. It’s not as easy, luring him back into bed when he’s in his stylish outfit from the night before. 

“Hi,” he says softly, wondering if he should’ve put anything on, since he’s only in white boxers. Harry whirls around, a little bit startled, if his wide eyed expression is any indication, but his eyes soften the moment he lays eyes on him. 

“Hi Lou.” He doesn’t open up his arms for an embrace or a good morning kiss, but Louis still comes closer, rests a hand on the small of his back to take a look at what he’s cooking. Harry doesn’t move away, and he tries to take that as a good sign. “I figured I’d make us breakfast before I left.”

Louis hums. “I see that.” He doesn’t ask him why he’s leaving, what he’s got planned, because it feels too pointed, and though he understands that they’ve got to have a conversation about what happened last night, he also knows that sometimes Harry just needs a little bit of time. “Are you alright?”

Harry pauses for a moment, turns towards Louis - something Louis always liked, how Harry talked with his whole body. How he could read him, before he even said a word. “Yeah,” he says, and Louis is glad that there’s no doubt in his voice. “Last night was-”

“Amazing.” 

Harry chuckles. “I was going to say _a lot_. But yeah, it was amazing. I can’t believe I almost forgot, how good we were together.”

Louis presses his face against Harry’s bicep, smothers a sound there. “I’m glad I got to remind you.” He says, and if he sounds awkward it’s because it sort of is, talking about this thing. He’s never done that with anyone but Harry, and he’s three years out of practice. “Is it too early to talk about what it means?” He asks softly, glad that he doesn’t have to look up at him. 

“It’s probably overdue, actually,” Harry counters, and Louis has to agree with that. They should’ve talked last night, about what they wanted from one another. Because Harry’s single, yes, but that doesn’t mean any of their past problems have been resolved. Louis knows that they might not get resolved at all, and though part of him knows that he should regret what happened in the light of morning, he can’t do that. Because at least he got to have Harry one last time. At least he got to remember what it was like to be loved by him. 

He nods, lets go of him, though he doesn’t get far, Harry reaching out to grasp onto his hand. “I figured we could have breakfast first.” Harry says softly, and Louis nods again.

“I’ll go get dressed.” He feels strange, sitting down for breakfast in his underwear when Harry’s looking like he’s about to head into a business meeting. 

“You don’t have to.” The way Harry looks at him actually makes him blush, and Louis gently nudges Harry’s side with an elbow. 

“You did.”

Harry shrugs. “Have you _tried_ cooking naked? That’s a recipe for disaster. I looked around for an apron but you don’t seem to have one, and I felt weird going through your closet for something to wear.” He doesn’t owe Louis an explanation, but it still makes him smile, knowing that it wasn’t intentional, that Harry didn’t already have one foot out the door.

“You could’ve just woken me up.” Louis points out, and this time it’s Harry’s turn to blush. 

“I wasn’t sure I was ready,” he admits, pushing around the scrambled eggs he’s been making. “I’m still not sure I’m ready. Because once we talk, you might break my heart, and it’s been hard enough getting past that once.” 

Louis swallows, reaches out for Harry again because of course he’d dropped his hand while talking. He’s moved in on himself some, and Louis wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and protect him from all the pain in the world. He doesn’t because -- 

He actually can’t find a good reason not to, so he _does_, just wraps his arms around him and pulls him in. “Harry.” It’s soft, and for a moment Louis doesn’t say anything else. He sighs then, something heavy exhaled between the two of them, leaving him to feel lighter. “I love you.” He hadn’t planned to say it, not while Harry was awake, but how could he not, now? 

Harry lets out a soft sound, only moves to turn off the heat under the eggs. “I cried to Zayn, that one night we went out. Told him how much I missed you.” He whispers. “How much I wanted to be a part of your life again.”

Louis feels his heart ache. He gently turns Harry, so he’s no longer facing towards the stove. “I missed you too.” He’s said that before, but it still serves to make Harry’s face twitch, like he can’t quite believe Louis means it. “I missed everything about you.”

“It’s been three years. You don’t even know me.” It’s quiet, and it could sound cold, but it just sounds terrified.

“Then I’ll get to know you.” All those problems are ones that had been brought up by his own head, and yet when Harry tries to voice them, Louis wants to shrug off every single one of them. They don’t matter. All that matters is _this_, between them. “Harry. Do you love me?” Because that is the only other thing that matters.

Harry meets his eyes at that. “I do. I thought, at first, that it was just that I had you back in my life again. That it was memories, more than anything. But over the past month, every time we talked… it was the highlight of my day, hearing from you. I wanted to share everything that happened in my life with you, and it made me think about… what would happen if you told me you were dating anyone.” He pauses. “I saw orange on your arm, a couple of weeks ago. And it _hurt_.”

Louis frowns. “I know the feeling.” He says quietly. 

Harry nods. “I’m sorry.” He reaches out for Louis’ hands, holds them cradled between his own, pressed between their chests. “I saw that and I -- God, I couldn’t stop crying for days. And that, that’s what really made me realize that I needed to break up with Jake. Because he was right. I couldn’t move on with anyone if I was still so invested in you. But the thing is, Lou, I don’t _want_ to move on. I want-” he swallows. “I want that orange to be because of me. Please tell me it is, Lou. Please tell me that you-”

“It’s you.” Louis interrupts him, unable to even let Harry finish his sentence and work himself up even more, when there’s already tears glistening in his eyes. “It’s always you, Harry.” As much as he’s tried not to, as much as he’s tried to fool himself into thinking that he didn’t love him, or that it didn’t matter if he did, it’s always been Harry, and it always would be. But with that knowledge comes the realization of why he can’t feel elated, knowing that Harry loves him back. Because it’s not as easy as that, and having Harry’s love is not the only thing that matters after all. “I love you. I probably always will.”

The spark in Harry’s eyes dims a bit. “But?” 

Louis sighs, takes Harry’s hand, leading him towards the couch. Harry seems unwilling to sit down, but Louis gently tugs at his arm, settles himself on the opposite side of the couch so he can look at him. As much as part of him is aching to be in his arms, he owes it to the both of them to talk this out. “But, where does that leave us, Harry?” He hates that he has to say it, hates that he has to be reasonable. Why can’t he go back to before he’d walked in the kitchen? Why can’t he wake up when Harry did and keep him from leaving? It’s simpler when they touch, when they kiss. When there’s no thought of tomorrow, only the moment to live in. “I _can’t_ do long distance again. I’m almost twenty five. I want … I want it all, H. Long distance was hard enough when we were eighteen, but now? I want a family. I want someone to come _home_ to. Not have to read on my arm that you’re back at your place, I want to hear the key in the door. I want a _life_, not be waiting for one to start.”

“Me too.” Harry whispers, the silence between them slowly carving out a space in Louis’ heart, leaving him hollow. “Louis,” he meets his gaze, not even stopping the tears that are threatening to spill over their lashes. Louis wants nothing more than to reach out and brush them away. “I want that with _you_.”

Louis is the one to break their eye contact, and when he bites his lip it’s hard enough to leave it a bit bloody. “I can’t move, Harry. I’ve thought about it, before you told me you broke up with Jake, when I realized that I still loved you, I thought about -- but I _can’t_. And that’s, I feel so shitty to do that to you again. To make you feel like you’re not good enough.” 

Harry shakes his head, shifts, his hand ending up on Louis’ knee, before it moves up his side, to finally cup his face. He’s hovering over Louis now, and Louis finds himself making space despite himself. “Then I’ll move.” 

“Harry.” Louis’ voice cracks. “You can’t. Your family-”

“Will be okay without me. Mom’s married, Gems is almost twenty six. They don’t need me there all the time. And there’s planes. They can come visit, whenever they want.” Harry sounds confident.

Louis shakes his head. “It’s never as much as you want. You can’t- I don’t want you to have to miss them.” 

The anguish in Harry’s eyes is only matched by his desperation, his need to make Louis see, to make things right. “But if I don’t, I’m missing _you_.” 

“You’ll get over me,” Louis counters quietly. “You did before.”

Harry huffs. “Barely.” He reaches out, brushes a strand of hair from Louis’ forehead. “You see how great a job I did at getting over you. _Louis_. I want to take that chance. I want to come here, and live with you, and be in love, and have a family.”

Louis feels his heart ache. “You should never feel like you have to do something you don’t want, in a relationship.” He whispers, repeating what he’d said to him only a couple of weeks ago. He knows what Harry’s response was then. That if he didn’t, he’d end up losing Jake much like he’d lost Louis. He can’t do that to him though. He can’t let him give up everything just because Louis remains unable or unwilling to do the same. 

“I’m not.” Harry states, quiet but sincere. There’s a weight to his words that is mirrored by the weight on Louis’ chest, the pressure of it all that makes him feel as though he’s about to fold in on himself. “Lou, I promise I’m not.”

“But-”

“Do you not want me to?” Harry shifts again, backwards this time, and Louis automatically reaches out to stop him from getting too far. “Louis. I’m willing to go the distance. But only if you are. If you’re not, then,” he swallows, “then we’re gonna go see Zayn tomorrow, and we’ll get this over with, and in three weeks, you and I are going to say goodbye as friends.”

The thought of ‘breaking up’, of having this stalemate come to an end much the same way it had done three years ago (with the exception of being friends), doesn’t come with relief this time. It just comes with heartache, and longing, and Louis can see it all on Harry’s skin, the colours more intense than he can ever remember them being. He glances at his own, just out of habit. The petals are gold, representing Harry’s fierce hope, but that’s not what draws Louis’ attention. 

It’s the word written in one of those petals.

_Home._

It’s not meant to say that. It’s meant to say _Louis’ apartment_, or _on holiday, _or any of the vague descriptors that have given clues to Harry’s whereabouts over the years. 

Harry glances down too, and while there’s a faint blush on his cheeks, he just looks at Louis, shrugs as if to say _what can you do_. “Home isn’t a place, Lou.” He says quietly. “It’s a feeling. It’s how I feel when I’m with you. It’s how I always want to feel, for the rest of my life.” He pauses. “Everything else, that’s just stuff. I can put in for a transfer on my job. I’ll make time to go back and visit my family. It’s much easier with mine. They’re all grown up, and there’s only a couple of them. I understand you not wanting to move, Lou, and I don’t hold it against you.”

“But you might, someday.” Louis whispers, swallowing down the fear he feels at that exact thought. That there’s a future in which Harry will hate him. “You might resent me for everything that you had to give up to come here. Everything you lost-”

“Everything I lost?” Harry sounds disbelieving, shakes his head as he brushes his fingers over his own tattoo, then over Louis’. “I’m not losing anything, baby.” He tells him, this ringing confidence in his voice that somehow prompt the tears Louis has been trying to hold back. “I’m gaining, so much. Being here, with you, I’m finally where I belong.”

Louis wants to ask him how he can be sure, but he looks down at his arm again, at that word, at what it means. Something breaks inside of him, some last line of defense, all the reasons why he _can’t _being swept off the table by those four letters inked on his arm. 

He swallows, reaches for him, hand slipping to the back of Harry’s neck so he can press their foreheads together.

Louis whispers back one word at him. One word, four letters, that’ll turn every dream he’s had since he was eighteen into reality.

“Stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story, please leave kudos/a comment, and if you want to, reblog the [fic post](https://so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed.tumblr.com/post/186937315153/some-things-fade-some-never-dolarry-25k-t) and come say hi on Tumblr!


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